


A Resurrection Story

by beekeepercain



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Asexual Character, Eating Disorders, Explicit Consent, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Sexual Content, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2018-03-16 11:28:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 119,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3486545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beekeepercain/pseuds/beekeepercain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years after the fall cast all angels from Heaven, a series of alerts by the bunker's tracking system keeps Sam busy as he tries to figure out the trigger for them. His only clue comes in the form of a ghost from his past when Gadreel appears by the bunker's door, little better than dead but a whole lot more alive than anyone could have expected. Both of them are left with no choice but to face their past as they try to figure out where they stand today, but it doesn't come as easy or quite as straightforward as either would have imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Unexpected Turn

**Author's Note:**

> For Gadreel big bang. Art by the amazing **[nonexistenz](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3491954/chapters/7671689)**.

 

* * *

 

Sam's fingertips slid along the surface of the strange map. His mouth tasted of old coffee and his hair was standing up even after he'd brushed it down with his fingers and palms repeatedly for the past thirty minutes - he'd known going to bed that soon after a shower would be bad news in the morning, but it hadn't kept him from doing it anyway. He'd woken up to a call from his brother: the blizzard was keeping him and Castiel in the motel for another night, although Sam imagined the delay had more to do with Castiel, a king-size bed in the motel room and some quality time together while _pretending_ to be trapped by a blizzard than any actual snowstorm raging outdoors.

It was snowing, however; the forecast had promised as much, and perhaps a white Christmas wasn't out of the question after all. Indoors and more than six feet under the ground it really didn't matter to Sam that much, and if he was honest, the privacy wasn't only a blessing to his brother's libido. The quiet did good to Sam as well after being trapped in that vortex of constant sexual tension and the whole of what road trips with Dean usually were anyway. A few days without the older's non-stop talking and the loud music with the distinctive stench of burger grease defining the usually leather-scented atmosphere were more than welcome, as long as at the end of the day Sam would still get that nuisance back along with all the good things that were tied to it.

The next thing he'd faced that day had been a ping, if the foghorn sound of it could be called that, from the map that he was now examining. It had stayed quiet since the angels had returned to Heaven, as nothing big enough had emerged for it to pick up the essences and power surges or whatever the things it tracked were. Now there had been three alerts from it after four years of silence, and while the first had been ignorable as a one-off oddity, the second after that had began worrying both the brothers and Castiel. They'd asked Charlie to take a look at it to make sure it wasn't broken, but the diagnosis of everything being perfectly fine with the system had done nothing but made them more concerned. The third ping had happened no more than four hours ago and it had been marked down at a nearby location, yet when Sam had made the necessary calls, no one had seen or heard anything out of the usual. A hunter close by had even gone asking the public, and he'd come back with nothing. Nothing had happened, yet _something_ was triggering the alarm on the supernatural tracking system. Sam wasn't sure if the silence was more to his liking than a big explosion would have been; on one hand, at least silence rarely had many casualties, but on the other, many suspicious silences often led to one big collapse of everything around him, and he would have preferred fire with all that smoke so that he could have started looking into how to put it out once and for all.  
If the map had been any more specific he would have taken a car and driven to see for himself, but what use was it for him to drive around Lebanon and the countryside around it aimlessly just hoping that whatever was setting the machines off would shine a light for him when no one else had noticed it at all, and when he himself had no more idea of where and what had happened than anyone else did? The best he could do was sit here and wait for another sound, one that might not be coming for days as the previous ones had all been days apart from one another.  
He'd notified Dean of it and the hunter had promised that they'd detour through town once the weather had settled, but all in all he'd seemed much more concerned with the comforts offered to him off the phone than with anything that Sam had shared with him, and the younger had granted him the luxury of voluntary oblivion. If he could drop caring for a night, Sam wanted him to do exactly that: there had been a surge in cases across the country, nothing out of the usual but as a result business was flourishing nonetheless, and spending a day without something to kill was a chance that Dean should embrace.

So it was that there seemed to be nothing more for Sam to do today. He cleared his throat just to make a sound in the thick air of the room and finally allowed his hand to slip off the map and down against his side before picking up his empty cup from the edge of the table and moving off. If there would be another alarm, he'd receive it anywhere in the bunker: the system crossed the whole place, and while it did not scream like it had when the angels had fallen, it did let out an ungodly noise that would wake the dead, and therefore it hardly mattered where Sam waited for it to come.

After the second alarm Castiel had made some inquiries to the angels to make sure none of them was acting out of line or if any of them knew what was happening, as the map had previously been modified to specifically track heavy, out-of-ordinary angelic involvement in this realm. None of them had confessed to knowing anything of the happenings however, and as there was very little detail to what Castiel could ask them, the inquiry had been mainly fruitless and frustrating for everyone involved. The seraph had returned to the bunker exhausted and displeased, but mostly depressed; there was certain weight involved with having to doubt his family, as four years was but a blink of an eye to an angel and even though that blink had passed without much trouble, it was far from unthinkable that something bad was brewing under the seemingly calm surface again. The other angels did not take kindly to being doubted either - accusations, as general, vague and gentle as they came, of disobedience were not welcome in the fold. The fighting had taken a toll on the angels and those that remained had been through a lot. Mistrust was their worst enemy, the one that always lurked just beneath the mask of union, and any angel that showed it outright was one challenging the peace that had been bought with blood and pain and despair which had not all yet healed over even though Heaven was restored and the ranks had been called home.  
So their attention had naturally turned towards the demonic realm: Hell's forces had been remarkably quiet for some time now, posing no more threat to society than the occasional possession and the usual business in souls. But if it was Hell, it called into question some old unfinished tasks, mainly that of Sam's own - the Gates that he'd been so close to being sealed off for good, yet which Sam had chosen to leave open at the request of his brother in exchange for sparing his own life. He would have lied if he'd said it no longer bothered him; he would have lied if he'd claimed it didn't keep him awake at night sometimes, knowing that out there countless people suffered because of that one decision. But he'd kept his promise at least to Dean, and after witnessing what closing Heaven had done to the world, he was doubtful of how much good messing with the supernatural order would at the end of the day do for anyone. It was possible that by finishing that course of action he'd cause more pain and suffering than he'd spare people from it, and it was possible that it would only shake the world once again like sealing Heaven had done with souls misplaced and lost and demons trapped on both sides of the veil as a wild card that nobody could predict the outcome of. Yet so far there was no evidence linking the alarms to Hell any more than there was of them being tied to Heaven or anything else - it seemed that no matter which theory they looked at, they were met with nothing but speculation. Sam hoped that the pings would eventually simply cease happening and that nothing would come of it, but a gut feeling told him that it was a false hope to foster and he trusted that gut feeling more than he would have liked to confess. Things never turned to the best case scenario in their lives although these days life wasn't too bad.

The bunker echoed now with emptiness as the hunter crossed its halls on his way towards the kitchen for something to suppress the ache in his stomach. Commotion wasn't too unusual anymore within the vast structure: Charlie, Jody, Garth and some other friends and allies came in and out as they pleased for whichever reason that drove them at a given time. There was something for them all here, even if it was nothing but a warm meal and a free bed on the way across Kansas towards some other destination, and especially for Charlie, sometimes the bunker was nothing but the final destination in and of itself. The young Woman of Letters enjoyed her time there, whether it was work in the form of research or writing, tinkering with whichever half-magic, half-technological system of her own choosing, or simply spending time with the residents whom she'd began thinking of as something more than friends, perhaps a family; the Winchesters and Castiel, all of whom now had a home within the fortress, welcomed her the same.  
She hadn't paid a visit in some weeks now, but it wasn't due to anything that would have caused Sam to worry: her relationship had taken a turn for the more serious and she'd put more time into it than ever before, although her reasons for the sudden change remained a mystery to the rest.

Sometimes Sam felt like he was the only one left who didn't have a relationship of his own to fill up his free time; his field forces were practically married, Garth's wife was expecting their second child, and even Jody had been dating on and off for the past year, claiming to finally have recovered enough from that bad date with Crowley several years ago to enjoy the opportunity again. Sam had never expected to end up the lone wolf, but even as happy as he was the way things were now - he had his work here at the bunker, his family intact and happy, and friends to fill up the time inbetween there - he still felt the cold space beside him when he curled up for rest at night. He'd always been the one chasing a relationship, the one who'd everyone thought the most likely one to end up married before it was all over, yet it seemed that he'd simply lost the means of connecting in that way with others: perhaps it was a result of two decades of bad luck on the field, or perhaps it was simply the fact that there weren't many people left who could have truly understood him with all the things that made him who he was today, but he hadn't met anyone in a while who'd become more to him than someone he wanted to see happy with someone who was not him. He'd dated a couple times, but at the end of the day the tries had left him exhausted in a strange manner, like he'd worn a costume that whole time and when the night was over and the sun was rising, what he had beneath that mask was a whole different story that he couldn't share with the one who claimed to love him for what he was. None of them knew everything, yet telling, truly sharing it with them had seemed impossible - even the hunter he'd felt might provide to him what he'd needed eventually fell short of understanding him the way he seemed to need her to understand him. It was mostly the damage done to him over the years that got in the way, the reasons why he woke up soaking wet uncertain where he was or if it was real in the first place, as the truths about it were both hard to speak and hard to relate to. Not one of these people had been tortured the way he'd been, and while one of the women had in fact been possessed - multiple times - at least she could say it had been a throughoutly, fully negative experience. Sam couldn't say that. Not about all the cases. His mindspace was a mess and there was no explaining how it still affected him; how Lucifer affected him, how Gadreel affected him, how the demon blood affected him, and why he had such a hard time getting through the day because of these things sometimes even though it had been years since any of them had had any direct influence over him at all.  
Sometimes, even when he was surrounded by all this life that now existed within these walls and outside of them for him, Sam still felt as if somehow he was more alone than he'd ever been. It seemed a state that wasn't about to change.

Now he leaned to the kitchen's counter, reached for a small cup and filled it with cereals, hair still hanging in front of his face at an odd angle that resulted from the strange hurricane that had styled him overnight. His hands trembled from the caffeine and no food as he dropped a spoon into the mix before filling the cup with skimmed milk and then putting everything away before making his way into the hall ahead, more careful to not spill anything than concerned about the lightheaded feeling that was taking over him. He sat down in the library, pulled up the book he'd left on the table and opened it at page 342; his eyes sought out the place he'd left the story at and when he ate, the feeling of the rough flakes mixing with the smooth, fresh milk was at once a pleasure and a collective of details that he tried his best to ignore. The story took its time to captivate him but once he remembered the vivid sceneries the words had depicted for him, it was easy to let go of waiting for the sirens and just dive into someone else's life for a moment - for once, Sam had the time for it. He turned page after page even after his cup was empty, elbows sliding further up on the table until he moved aside the plate to make more room for his chest. He smiled absently at the dialogue, heartbeat calming to a slow, relaxed rhythm as his thoughts turned to nothing but picturing the story told for him. His breathing slowed as well and he could almost lose himself in the words, give in like diving deep beneath the ocean's surface where light turned dim and weight became an arbitrary memory of life outside somewhere far away from him, as if in another world entirely.  
That was the way he wanted to spend his free time: lurched over a book or lost in a good movie, somewhere far from himself, his skin and the unkind company of his restless mind, but that wasn't to be today. Today his enjoyment was cut short not by the alarm that he'd been waiting for but the sound of someone triggering the hidden doorbell system. Sam raised his head slowly, frowning; he wasn't expecting anyone, not with the snowy weather. It had to be important, and important always meant something was wrong: he picked himself up and dragged over his laptop, woke it from the sleep mode and opened the feed from the camera pointing at the doorway.

He didn't know the figure standing there. It could have been anyone with the pixelated image hiding the details of the hooded shape with snow scattered over the black fabric over its shoulders and the top of its head. It took Sam a moment to realise there was a hood in the first place - at first glance, the image looked like someone with long hair due to the false highlights created by the scarce flakes melting to water over the cloth.  
For a moment he just sat there and watched, waiting if the figure would leave, but it never did. After some time had passed and there was no change whatsoever in the picture that took over the laptop's screen Sam finally stood up, secured a gun to his side and covered it up with his shirt - yet when he glanced at the screen one more time before leaving, the figure suddenly seemed to have vanished. He refreshed the feed but nothing happened: the doorway remained ominously empty.

There was no sound from the corridor, but for some reason Sam didn't find it likely that the strange figure had just left after standing at the doorway like that for so long. But there were only so many people who knew how to access this place to begin with and the likelihood of someone being able to break in without a sound was next to nothing, so if that was the case, how could this eerie visitor have gotten in at all? Sam's eyes turned from the hallway back to the empty door and he felt a shiver cross through him. He didn't have a choice: he'd have to go look, make sure there was no one there, and when he'd made that clear he'd need to call this in to Dean.  
Instead of choosing the straightest way through Sam moved soundlessly to the wall and followed it up into the stairway. His paranoia hadn't toned down even when he still heard nothing - there'd been something throughoutly unsettling about seeing that black shape just stand and stand and stand by the door of his home, this grand underground palace that had as many rooms as it had secrets, and in which he was alone with no one within less than a half a day's drive from him. It sounded like the setup for a cheap horror movie, only the bunker was no mansion and at least he knew its halls and corridors better than anyone else would, including some shady intruder should he ever find one at all. The cup of cereals had settled his dizziness somewhat but as Sam finally ascended the metal stairs as quietly as he could he could still feel the lingering effects of it, or perhaps just the renewal of it brought upon him by the rush of adrenaline.  
At the top of the stairs his ears suddenly picked up a sound. It was a dragging sound, like something brushing against a wall, and then stumbling: a quiet sound followed of which he could not be certain of, but which resembled a gasp or a heavy breath, perhaps as a result of the former misstep. The hunter brought forward his gun, removed the safety and moved on with his heart beating within the small space at the end of his throat, pumping blood so hard that his own bloodstream was all that he could hear in the silence. He entered the corridor ready to shoot - his finger bent down, ready to pull the trigger, but when his eyes finally located the uninvited visitor, he saw him collapsed against the wall and his face belonged to a ghost of someone long dead by then, causing the hunter's mind to stall as if put on a pause to process the impossibility of what he was seeing. The gun wavered in front of him, lowered but not to aim, and his finger relaxed around the trigger as he tried to figure out how to react - even before he wouldn't have known whether to fire or stand down, but what about now? There were so many questions, the most burning ones of them more important than assuring immediate safety.  
As a final straw, bullets would not help him now. As he realised that he made his decision, put the safety back on and tugged his Colt back to his belt.

The intruder's eyes were a visible, clear shade of green even in the yellow light of the corridor's, and his skin was a sickly pale shade and his lips a tone of blueish purple, and the expression on him was pleading, scared and lost.

Sam didn't know what to say. He didn't know how to react. He didn't have a plan for this, so the only thing that did pass his lips was the name of the ghost in front of him.  
"Gadreel?"

"I did not know where else to go," the ghost replied, voice breaking as his body trembled.


	2. Raised

* * *

 

They'd parted uneasy allies. Sam's mind was adjusting to that when he helped the angel downstairs and onto the nearest couch in the study, brought a blanket for him to wrap around his freezing body, and then just as naturally dragged a blade's edge across his arm to reveal a faded flash of blue to confirm that he was what he claimed to be. Gadreel barely flinched - he leaned his head back, eyes closed, and the moment Sam's grip of his arm loosened he brought it back underneath the blanket and continued shivering instead. He didn't only seem cold, he seemed injured and weak, but no matter how badly, it was still unbelievably good and much better than the state of death that he should have suffered. Castiel had been there when the sentry had taken his own life - there was no way in hell that he was here now, somehow, yet... so it seemed.

"Do you want a cup of coffee? It might warm you up," the hunter clumsily asked at last.

He shivered when the older cast a look into his eyes, the emotion behind the green intense but unreadable, and a part of him was glad when the older nodded, as it granted him an escape from the situation - an escape from the angel himself.  
"It is kind of you to offer," the older spoke, voice still weak but warm with gratitude.

"I have some questions for you afterwards," Sam noted dully, still dumbfounded by the whole situation, "and if you vanish I _will_ hunt you down."

A lost smile lingered upon the sentry's lips. He sighed wearily as he lowered his head and trembled violently - his vessel's temperature had to be nearing hypothermia, if it wasn't already past that line.  
"I will stay here," he replied with some weight applied to the words, "and I will do my best to answer your questions, although my answers may be of little value."

"Better than nothing. Try to get your story together, I'll take a couple minutes," Sam said before stepping away from the couch and circling around it.  
His feet took him away from the room and across the study's hall faster than he remembered ever crossing them, and his vision was nothing but a blur - when he stood in the kitchen, he wasn't certain he hadn't crossed by running. He filled two cups although the coffee already smelled old and slightly burned, one for himself and one for the sentry, and poured a small serving of milk into each cup before turning to return. His hands trembled, but his mind was sharpening up already: he had no idea what was happening or why it was, but he knew one thing for certain - he'd get the other's version of the story, and then he'd dial it straight to Dean and Castiel. Better yet; he would record the whole thing and send the file over to Dean's email. They could work from it what they would.

Even though Sam had expected the worst, the sentry was still on the couch right where he'd left him when he returned with the coffees. The only thing that had changed was that the male's shoes were on the floor but his feet had disappeared under the blanket, and where his legs had earlier hung down from the couch they were now bent against his chest. His arm was still trembling as he reached for the cup Sam offered him, but not badly enough for the coffee to spill over. Sam watched him clumsily down a gulp of the steaming drink and a strong tremor visibly run down his body in response to it, but the angel's features lit up with a relieved smile at the warmth, and when he opened his eyes, there was pure gratitude in the way he looked at Sam. He nodded thankfully before making space next to him on the couch: he left his feet between himself and Sam, who settled opposite to him in the exact same pose, pretending to read a text message as he set up the phone to record. Once it was all done and he'd sat down comfortably, he sipped his coffee and prepared the first question.  
"So," he started, still looking for the best way to start, "tell me how you ended up here."

"I... wish I knew," Gadreel replied, "I do know how I ended up _here_ \- this was the only place I could think of. But you're asking how I - how I am. I cannot tell you much."

"Start from the first thing you remember."

"It is... difficult. I remember - flashes - of what happened; I remember chasing after Metatron, I remember standing in his office with Castiel. I remember - Hannah - then flashes of... the prison, but I cannot make sense of most of this. I have no clear understanding of what happened after we arrived at the playground, but when I began to regain consciousness, I was by that playground again. Wet snow was falling and I was cold, but for the longest time I did not fully realise that I was; I merely observed what was around me without recognising myself as a part of the whole. When it finally dawned to me that I was there, the rest came swiftly: I realised that I was cold and that I needed shelter, but I could not think of another place but here. I had nowhere else to go, so I took my chances."

"That's... a two hour walk," Sam noted, brow rising, "Not exactly the kind of a distance you want to walk when you're freezing to death."

"I think I was aware of that at the time that I chose the option, but I did not realise how vulnerable I was. I did not think much of being cold, or of the ache I felt, but I am not in full power. I feel... wounded, almost completely... almost as if I was close to death. Almost _human_ ; the flesh has taken over where my grace has failed."

The hunter didn't doubt that. It explained the paleness and the effect of the cold, as well as the blush now quickly rising to the angel's features with the warmth of the blanket and the hot coffee he was drinking.  
"Are you - sure you're still -"

"I am an angel," Gadreel answered before Sam had the chance to finish his sentence, "I feel my grace within me. It is weak but it is not gone, nor is it fading. You saw it as I did when you cut my arm."

"Okay. Yeah. I guess that settles that."  
The younger hesitated for a while, but it had to be done - for science, for information, and because it simply _had_ to be done.  
"I need to - I need to take a look at you."

The angel tilted his head, but as if expecting what would follow he laid his cup down on the low table next to the couch and nodded.  
"Do what you must, then," he said.

Sam nodded. He placed his own coffee next to the older's and braced himself before reaching to part the blanket from around the older's body. It helped him when Gadreel closed his eyes; the last thing he wanted was to feel the male staring at him while he did this, but there was no alternative. The other's leather jacket had been thrown on the arm rest but the black hoodie still remained: it was intact but wet from the middle where the jacket hadn't covered it, and after opening the zipper Sam dragged away the sides and pushed it down the other's shoulders.

"Take that off. It's wet. You'll feel better when it's not there anymore."

The older nodded and did as requested; his movements were stiff but he didn't seem to shake as badly anymore. The grey shirt underneath was as intact as the hoodie had been and although it was wet, there wasn't any dirt on it. Sam undid the buttons from the collar and pulled it down, hoping that would be enough: his touch caused the older to shiver, but he wasn't sure if it was the direct contact or the cold air pushing down into what warmth the body had managed to gather in the space he'd now exposed to room temperature. He didn't have to drag the shirt down far before he saw what he'd been looking for. Castiel had recounted the events in Heaven, how Metatron had tricked them and how it had led to Gadreel's suicide; he'd assumed the sentry had carved the sigil into his flesh with a sharp rock and triggered it with the same as Hannah had confirmed. The marks were still there, the wounds scarred over, pinkish and uneven under the shirt that Sam was pulling down. He didn't need to see the whole thing to know what it was, the first lines were enough, and with that knowledge gained he let go of the older's clothes.

"You can wrap up again," he said grimly.

There was relief in the older's face when he pulled the blanket around himself.

"So you don't... you don't remember what happened in Heaven?" Sam asked then.

Gadreel shook his head, eyes open again although he was looking away from Sam.

"You don't remember dying, do you?"

Slowly, the male shook his head again, but Sam found it very suspicious that there was no sign of shock on his features whatsoever at the sentence.  
"You don't seem very surprised to hear that you're dead."

Gadreel glanced at him seeming off his footing for a bit, but then his expression locked and he shook his head once more.  
"I thought something must have happened. We left when it was summer and I woke up in the winter."

"Yeah, well, it's been a little longer than just a season since then," Sam announced, "You've been dead for four years."

To his surprise, the sentry smiled.  
"You claim that I seem unaffected by the news of my own death, yet you are the one talking to a dead man like it happened to you every day."

The hunter shrugged.  
"Sometimes," he grimaced, "I feel like it happens to me every day. Comes with the job description, I guess."  
A light seemed to suddenly go on in his head - a light that he wondered why he hadn't connected before.  
"Wait, you said you woke up by the playground? In Lebanon?"

Gadreel nodded.  
"Just outside the lot. In a ditch, if you want the specifics."

Sam shook his head.  
"No, I just think you might have been what set off the alarm system earlier. How long ago would you say it was? Some three hours, about?"

"Something like that," the angel replied hesitantly, "I cannot say for sure, it took me a while to... find myself."

"Damn," Sam muttered, "That'd make sense. Except that it doesn't make any - we still don't know why you're up. Um, I need to - I need to do something. Can you stay here for a bit?"

The angel nodded again, reaching for his coffee.  
"I feel like some rest would not harm me," he replied wearily, "I promise not to move from this place before you come back for me."

"Thanks."

 

* * *

 

"Wait, what?"

Sam squished the phone between his ear and his shoulder to send the email: it would load a few minutes, and probably take a similar time to arrive at Dean's end. Although the older couldn't see it he shrugged in response to the question.  
"I honestly don't know," he grunted, "I wish I did. But he really is an angel, he seems - he seems himself - so unless there's some really weird repossession of a dead corpse by some other angel who knows Gadreel well enough to pass as him, I think he's the real deal."

"Sammy, just be careful."

"I am careful. It's not like I trust Gadreel to begin with. I haven't had much reason to. So whether it's him or it's someone else doesn't even matter, I'm going to keep an eye on him. The thing is - what if I'm right? What if he's telling the truth and I'm right and the system is picking up freak angel resurrections?"

"Well," Dean said slowly, and Sam could hear his laptop's system starting up, "it's not like it's impossible. I mean, Cas is twice dead to date and I don't know what else to call his returns but freak angel resurrections. It's just... we don't know of anyone else popping up before now. It's just Cas. And although it's a long shot, the best explanation we've had to date is just God and His mysterious ways."

"Well, we haven't really given it a thought."

"We're not very good at looking in the gift horse's mouth, are we now, Sam."

"It's always been _Cas_ , though."

"Yeah, but it just makes me wonder."

Sam felt a headache incoming.  
"Can you ask him if there's a way I can tell for certain if it's Gadreel?" he asked to put that concern to rest.

"Yeah. I like that. Give me a second."  
The phone rustled - Sam could almost see Dean holding it off from his mouth. He could still clearly hear the question Dean presented the older but not so much the answer that Castiel gave him, as although the seraph's voice carried across the muffled line just fine, the words he spoke were too unclear to make sense to Sam.  
"Okay. Okay. Yeah. Sam, you have pen and paper?"

Sam rolled his eyes - he couldn't help it.  
"I have a laptop," he replied wearily.

"Right. Yeah, of course you do. Okay, you're gonna need to write some stuff up. You're gonna perform this while we drive as fast as we can through that damn blizzard back to the base, okay, and if it gives you the wrong answer then you don't say a word to whoever it is who's drinking up my expensive dark blend, alright?"

"Right."

Dean recited a spell in Enochian - Sam could hear it come directly from Castiel, but still only Dean's words made actual sense to him. He typed it up and read it through with thought, finding it surprisingly logical for its purpose.  
"Got it."

"Okay," Dean said, clicking away on his own laptop, "Okay - so - you said you cut him with a blade?"

"I did."

"Yeah, well, use the blood on that blade. Cas says it has grace in it so it'll have to do. If it's Gadreel, the grace will light up when you read the spell with his name and the blood will glow, and if it's not Gadreel the blood's not gonna do anything and we have a huge and really damn creepy problem in our hands. In any case, I think we have a problem. I mean, the only thing I've been thinking since you reported in is pretty much summable by the words 'Pet Cematary'."

"Thanks, Dean. That's exactly what I want to be thinking right now," Sam sighed, closing his eyes and rubbing at his forehead in the hopes of banishing the budding headache once and for all.  
"I'll call you when I've completed the spell."

"Okay. Stay safe, Sammy."

"You too. Don't drive too fast. I've wrestled with Gadreel before, I can do it again if I have to."

"If it is Gadreel."

"Well, I wouldn't be too worried. I'll call you back in a bit."

"Right."

The call ended. Sam leaned back in his chair and sighed, rubbing at his neck as he read through the list of ingredients one more time: the herbs were similar to those used in a summoning, spare the opium - he had them all here in the bunker, and he was almost certain he remembered the spell by now, as the structure and language was neat and clear. To make sure he still captured the screen and sent the file to his phone for reference, and once the file was sent he slid out of the chair and jogged downstairs.  
He picked up the blade he'd left on a shelf and wandered to the study: the angel remained on the couch and cast a surprised but warm look in his direction when he peered in from the door.  
"Everything okay?" Sam asked him, blade hidden from view behind his back.

"I am fine, thank you. Did you get everything done already?"

Sam shook his head.  
"Still a few things left. I need to call Dean about you, anyway."

Gadreel, if it was him, nodded.  
"I did not dare to ask," he admitted, "I was worried something had happened to him. But Dean is alright, I assume?"

It was Sam's turn to nod.  
"Dean's fine. Long story."

"I have no doubt about that."

"Cas is with him," the younger noted.  
He watched sharply for the other's reaction and felt a flood of relief when the immediate response to his words was visible like light spreading into the angel's expression.

"Castiel?" the sentry asked in a voice of barely held-back excitement.

Sam nodded.

"I am glad to hear of him as well."

The younger chuckled and shook his head.  
"He got to the tablet, you know."

"And Metatron?"

"Another long story."

Gadreel nodded.  
"It can wait," he said then, still smiling.

"It has to," Sam laughed, "I'll be back in a few, okay?"

"Alright. I will wait. Sam?"

The hunter had almost stepped away from the door but returned to where he'd been at the sound of his name.  
"Yeah?"

Gadreel seemed to hesitate, and this hesitation made the younger feel uneasy, almost nervous. It took him a while to find the words, and even when he did, he didn't look Sam in the eye.  
"May I make a request? I know I cannot ask anything of you, but -"

"Try me."

He nodded.  
"If it is of no trouble for you," the sentry spoke to his mug, "All I ask for is another cup of coffee - I am still cold, even though it is not as bad as it was before I drank this."  
He cast a timid look at Sam, who couldn't hold back the laughter.

"Yeah, sure. That won't be an issue."

Gratitude returned to the older's expression, although Sam was certain he could make apart a shade of shame as well.  
"Thank you, Sam."

"Just try to rest, okay? I'll bring a thermos here when I get back and you can have five more cups if you want."  
The younger was still shaking his head as he turned away from the sheepish, yet happy, expression on the angel's face. No, he didn't appear in the least like he'd crawled out of a cursed burial ground. If there was an opposite for that, it might have fit the feeling Sam got of him better, and the man felt light when he moved across the bunker towards the kitchen, threw out the old coffee and put more dripping. Once it was done he grabbed the angel blade again and moved away, wondering if the cut had healed by now: the angel was so badly off that he wouldn't have counted on it, even though the injury he'd caused was minor at best.  
The way downstairs took little time for him, but drawing the necessary symbols upon the table's surface and setting up the mixture of herbs and oil and spreading it over the sigil was where the work began. Once he was done he set the blade in the middle of the sigil, rolled up his sleeves and brushed back his hair, drew in a long breath and recited the spell from memory.  
His heart raced at the last line and when the spell was over, it almost felt like it had stopped: his eyes stared at the faint line of red over the triblade's edge and he held his breath, counting time although he had no idea how long it _should_ have taken for the spell to take.

Then, on the fourth second since he'd finished the incantation, the blood turned to bright white light and he could see the flame-like grace dancing upon the metal's edge. A long exhale escaped him in the form of a sigh and he lowered his gaze, smiling, shivering. As weird as it was, at least he didn't have a corpse-possessing impostor to deal with.


	3. Home

* * *

 

They had coffee in silence, but it wasn't an uncomfortable one. Sam found his mind turning to a blank in company: it only ever happened when he was relaxed and felt safe, and somehow, for a reason that he didn't bother to dig at, he seemed to feel that way here. Every now and then Gadreel would move and gain his attention, but the older simply seemed tired and looked for a better position to rest in. He poured a second cup after the first one and added in some milk on his own, and when he sipped it, his eyes closed in enjoyment.  
After he finally returned to Sam's company, he suddenly turned to look at the younger, squinting and tilting his head as if seeing something new in him.

"You said you were to call your brother?" he confirmed then.

Sam nodded.  
"They're on the way back. Said the weather's terrible but I think they'll make it just fine."

Gadreel nodded. He seemed nervous but Sam couldn't blame him: the last time he'd seen Dean eye to eye, the hunter had tried to slice him in two.

"Cas is coming, too," the younger heard himself say and saw the sentry visibly relax at the reevelation.

A hint of a smile appeared on the other's face and he nodded.  
"I'm sorry I cannot be of more help," he said then, "in figuring out what is going on. I suppose that is what you all will gather for."

Sam sipped his coffee to spare himself a moment to think.  
"Kind of, yeah," he said.  
Not that there was much to figure out: they still lacked the leads. The only thing that they could do was to wait for the next ping and then go look for it. Perhaps with Castiel's help they would be able to locate the source if it truly was an angel resurrected.

"How are you feeling, anyway?"

Gadreel turned to examine the younger and then his own cup for a moment, perhaps wondering whether he should answer this honestly or if it was a casual question that he should answer politely. Sam grimaced, placing his cup down on the table and pressing his warm fingers over his cold wrist.

"I need to know," he continued to give the other a clearer understanding of the nature of his question, "everything you can tell me so that we can get to the core of this."

The older avoided his eyes.  
"You do not think I am the only one?"

"Not at all."

The sentry nodded again slowly, thoughtfully, and sipped his coffee before continuing.  
"I feel weak," he began then, "Hurt. Every part of me aches and the cold will not leave. Parts of me feel as if they are cut open and bleeding, bruised; my bones feel as if they are made of ice. But the worst is that I feel misplaced, like I should not be here, or that I am not here entirely - it is hard to describe. It is as if this body moved from that playground but my mind is following behind and I have trouble placing myself within the flesh, as if I am constantly torn elsewhere. The feeling is fading and so is the pain and I do think I will recover in some time, but I am tired and I may have to rest it off physically."

"As in you think you need sleep?" Sam clarified.

Gadreel's expression locked again and he looked down at his lap before nodding.

"I'll make sure you have a safe place for that," the younger offered, gaining a look from the sentry.

"Thank you."

"It's okay."

There was a silence - it was full of questions and unspoken things, but Sam didn't want to start undoing it. He didn't want to push those things upon Gadreel yet, and he thought Dean would not spare him from them anyway, but a part of him hoped that the angel would take the first step and come clean with the will to fix what he'd broken. They'd never had the chance to talk but Sam didn't feel like they'd parted enemies, and the news of Gadreel's death had shocked him even though he'd hardly had the chance to feel such a thing after what had happened to his own brother. It had bothered him this whole time, the uncertainty and the things he didn't understand and which he'd pushed back from the way of more important, more urgent matters, but which he'd then never had the chance to bring up again.  
"I want to come clean about something," he finally said, gaining the older's attention immediately.  
He reached a hand between them and although it took a while, after a moment the sentry offered his in turn. Their fingertips brushed together and it wasn't quite a handshake and it wasn't quite hand holding either, but it was a touch, a connection of some kind between them that Sam felt put them on even, honest ground.  
"I'm glad you came to us first."

Gadreel raised his eyes timidly to Sam's - his expression turned to a frown, one of disbelief more than anything. Sam slid his hand back to his own side and picked up his coffee again, avoiding the other's questioning look.

"I think," he continued, addressing the bookshelf ahead, "it speaks volumes that the first place you think of when you need shelter is here."

"I do not have many allies," the older spoke uncertainly.

"No, I guess not. But you think of us as such. You need a place you can recover and you think us, you think this place, and you risk it and come here even though you know how it might end. You could have gone anywhere. You would have found a place. Instead, you chose us."  
Sam felt a crooked smile on his lips and he let it linger for a while before drinking his coffee again.  
"And I'm happy that you did."

"Sam..."

"Yeah?"

They eyes met again, and Sam hoped, _hoped_ , that this was about to be it. He could see that it was: the other shivered although the cold seemed to have lost its edge already, but finally Gadreel looked away, seemingly losing whatever courage it had been that had pushed him into speaking the hunter's name.

"Thank you," he said quietly instead.

"Don't thank me," the younger sighed and drowned his disappointment in another gulp of coffee.

 

 

* * *

 

Gadreel stood in the hall beside Sam feeling as if he was about to go in front of a court. The steps that echoed in the metal stairway caused his lungs to turn to stone - he couldn't draw in air and instead he took a step to the side as if to hide behind the younger. Sam seemed to notice it: he cast a look at the sentry and shook his head, finger brushing across the other's arm to guide him back to where he'd stood before.  
"It's okay," the hunter uttered under his breath.

It was unusual for Gadreel; in the face of true danger he would have stood in front of Sam, guarding him from real and imagined threats alike no matter the nature of their relationship, but in this situation Sam was beyond safe, and it wasn't the fear of pain or death that pushed the angel to his back. It was the shame he felt, and the uncertainty of whether he was welcome here after all. He could see his former ally-turned-enemy walk down those stairs, closely followed by Gadreel's brother whom the sentry had chosen to leave behind; these were the faces who had the right to judge him by his deeds, and who would do it whether the verdict would be guilty or otherwise. It scared him, but it scared him in a whole different way than the threat of a blade between his ribs. It scared him in the way that hurt him the most, with the threat of banishment, sneer and ostracization. That had been his personal hell; he did not falter at outright violence, but the thought behind it was terrifying to him. The last time he'd stood there, Dean had judged him guilty and taken the chance to bring him down - at the same time, this man who now stood by his side had stood on the other side then to hold Dean back from the killing blow. He'd chosen to take a stance for Gadreel despite, it seemed, his crimes, and although initially Gadreel had believed it to be only due to his strategic value, he couldn't help but question that conclusion now that Sam still stood beside him here. This whole time the younger had treated him with such kindness that Gadreel had not expected at all: he'd sat with him, drank coffee with him and offered him all the luxuries of toleration and compassion that a hunter could afford. Those hours had settled the ache inside Gadreel's body somewhat and he no longer had trouble standing, although his skin burned as if with fever and his whole self the grace and the physical attachment alike felt exhausted beyond the limit a human being would have been able to withstand. What little his grace could provide was nearing its end too, but he'd last long enough to stand through this greeting at the very least, and if he'd be driven out then he could curl up and die outdoors in peace without anyone interfering or demanding anything else of him - and if by some miracle he'd still remain welcome here, he'd likely get the chance to sit down soon enough, and it just would have to do for rest.

Dean Winchester with Castiel at his heel walked to the doorway in synch that seemed to come naturally to them, finally stopping before the lit map in the middle of the room full of all sorts of humming machinery, facing both Sam and Gadreel with the air of suspicion.

"You made it," Sam greeted them with a dull chuckle, "Had a hard time?"

"Nah," Dean replied, eyes on Gadreel, "Made it in less time than we got there, actually. The snowstorm wasn't that bad after all - the slush on the road here was a bitch, though."  
He stepped forwards and all of Gadreel's instinct told him to step one back, but he stood firmly in place, certain that his firm translated into stiff and guilt-ridden to everyone around him, but it was the best he could offer. To his relief Sam didn't move from his side even when Dean stood just a step away from Gadreel, and the younger's eyes stayed upon them the whole time with their expression keen but calm.  
The older hunter stared into Gadreel's eyes for a good long while without even blinking; the angel tried to give him back what he was looking for, at least until the scoff and the shrug finally cut off the staring contest and Dean turned to pat Sam on the shoulder.

"Is there coffee in here somewhere or did you drink all of it while I was gone?" the hunter asked, and while Sam replied, Gadreel's confusion-tinted relief turned back to worry as he watched Castiel approach him.

The seraph did so quickly, much faster than Dean had; his steps were hurried to the point where he was almost running, and his expression remained locked but with a lot of emotion hidden behind there that Gadreel couldn't read from him. He didn't stop a step away, either; he brought his arms around the sentry and hugged him tight, and although at first Gadreel instinctively had expected a blade between them there seemed to be none, or at least he couldn't feel the pain - he was unaccustomed to affection like this, but once he settled into it, it felt good to have and melted away the worry and fear from him like it was ice under the heat of the midday's sun.  
Sam picked up on it quickly after Dean had disappeared and let out a light chuckle, reaching to pat Castiel on the back.

"Let him go, Cas."

The embrace broke before Gadreel had even realised it was perhaps expected of him to return the gesture, but Castiel didn't appear insulted by the lack of it. He looked Gadreel in the eye with a completely different expression than Dean had, and when Gadreel watched him in turn he realised he was looking at someone who did not seem in the least like the Castiel that he'd met four years earlier. This was an angel who was whole, intact, full of life and grace - and most importantly, full of grace that was his own. It changed the whole way the seraph appeared, yet at the core he was still recognisable and himself: that something about him had never changed no matter how hard pressed he'd been.

"It's good to see you," the younger angel said with a smile that appeared genuine without a shadow cast from it.

"It is good to see you as well, brother," Gadreel replied, his voice lost and lips fighting to remember how to imitate the expression on the other.

Castiel nodded, appearing as if the older had passed some sort of a test, and his hand pressed over Gadreel's shoulder when he turned to look at Sam.  
"I already contacted some angels who may have the chance to look into the earlier alarms," he spoke, "they were not overjoyed at my lack of explanation but it just has to do until we learn more."

Sam nodded.  
"Good work," the hunter said, casting a look in Gadreel's direction.  
"We should probably get this over with, then."

 

* * *

 

There wasn't much chance for Gadreel to partake in the conversation. To his surprise, he was only ever addressed to confirm or recite parts of his story - he tried to be as clear as he could, but shame kept him from giving up the details from the very beginning, how there was a seamless transition from his very last moment to eventually waking up in the ditch covered with wet ice. He didn't think of those details as crucial: they mostly happened inside his own mind and did not seem relevant to what the others needed to know, yet he prepared to let go of them in case they would be directly asked about, but no one seemed interested in his death and much rather concentrated on how he'd come alive again. He was glad for that - he'd already claimed to Sam that he had no memory of his death, even though nothing could have been clearer in his mind. The stone walls of the bunker made him uneasy and he felt his heart racing every time he made the mistake of looking at them for too long, or of imagining how similar they were - how locked, in fact, he was here as well within these walls, even though he was free to move here and free of pain at least for the time being, and even though for the most part he felt as if he was with friends and allies, not with enemies. He was asked if he knew who else might have had the same fate as him, but he couldn't tell; he'd had no idea there had been anyone else at all when he'd returned, and the thought still seemed strange to him. But at least it made more sense than him being the only one resurrected: he didn't deserve this, and if he'd been given the choice, he wouldn't have wanted this at all. He'd been content knowing it was all over for him, and the moment of his death had come with bittersweet relief, yet his resurrection had been anything but; he still grieved for the loss of that choice that he'd made, even though facing with the one brother he'd left alone in the thick of the fight burned him with shame over that same choice. It had been selfish, but he hadn't been in any place to think, and if he'd now or ever be returned to that cell again, he'd make the same one in a heartbeat. It was his living hell and any sane being would escape that at chance given - his one and only choice had laid right there, as if served on a platter. All it had taken was a desperate last stand, and he'd thought he'd been free of it once and for all for a price that had hardly mattered anymore. Yet now he was here again: in such a short time, things seemed to have changed much.

He couldn't shake Dean's eyes from him no matter how inconspicuous he attempted to come across. He stayed as open in stance as he could and kept his answers as honest as they came but the older Winchester's doubt was sharp like a blade and cut into his words with precise questions, making him stumble over his own words even though he knew them to be true and as close to accurate as he could provide. Dean saw as well as he did that there was no true reason for any of it: there was no logic to his resurrection and his lack of real answers to give appeared suspicious to say at least. Yet they could have cast a spell on him and the results would have remained the same: they could have chained him down in the dungeons and tortured him, and the answers would have remained the same. There truly was no more information in him than what he'd already given - he'd woken up slowly, he'd made the choice to come here for shelter, and Sam had let him in. He was still recovering and had by no means returned in full power: he was hungry, he was tired and he was cold and wanted little else than the chance to shut his eyes for a few blissful moments to drive away the pain of exhaustion, but that part he left unsaid, as he was in no position to demand anything even if it was nothing more than the chance to rest.

Sam seemed to know what went on in his mind, however; the man kept an eye on him and finally, even though Castiel and Dean were still caught up in an ever-heating conversation over possibilities, theory and chance, he stood up and asked them if it was absolutely necessary for himself and Gadreel to still be present, as it had been a long day for them both. Only at that stage it seemed to dawn to Castiel that Gadreel's state, which had to be visible to him like his own condition had been visible to Gadreel four years ago, meant that he played by different rules now: he seemed embarrassed and apologized for keeping them there, whereas Dean simply grunted his approval.

"Put him in room 37," the hunter told Sam.

"Dean - seriously."

"I'm not gonna sleep if there's a chance I'll wake up with a blade in my guts, thank you, Sam."

Sam sighed and rolled his eyes as he turned, motioning Gadreel to follow.

"Room 37?" Gadreel asked curiously as they walked up the stairs.

Sam cast a look at him and pursed his lips in a dissatisfied manner, shrugging.  
"It's a room with a lock on the outside," he explained, "Basically Dean wants me to lock you up, and I get it, but I don't agree with it. Besides, you're an angel, you can bash through a simple door if you want to - the last thing I'm going to do is put you behind a lock _and_ some fifty sigils to contain you. You're not a prisoner here and I'm not going to make you one."

The thought was terrifying and before he'd known to push himself past it, Gadreel realised he'd stopped to stand in the middle of the corridor, pale and with cold sweat rising over his sore skin. It was a reaction he didn't know how to change: his breathing turned shallow and he didn't really know how to continue moving his feet even though he knew he had no other choice.  
Sam turned around with an apologetic look on his face and reached a hand between them again, waiting.  
"Look, I get it. I said I'm not going to do it. You'll get the room next to mine, I sleep like a dog and every sound wakes me up. Come on. You have the right to an open door. Literally if you want to, Dean sleeps in a different corridor. I'm not saying he's not going to check because he probably will, but you're not the one he'll tear a new one over it."  
A half-amused, half-exasperated smile crossed Sam's lips and he sighed.  
"You know, I almost expected him to tell me to take you down to the dungeon. This is better than that."

He made an expecting movement with his hand, and Gadreel couldn't justify not taking it anymore. The hunter tugged him on gently and when their hands parted, the angel found himself walking again.

"He'll get over it. It'll just take a week or so, give him the chance," Sam continued as if there'd never been a pause between his sentences at all.

"I do not deserve his forgiveness," Gadreel argued in a sad tone.

"You'll have it anyway," Sam replied casually, "He just needs some time. He can't keep it up alone, he needs someone to assure him that he's right. No one will do it. Cas will probably tell him to get over it by tomorrow."

The sentry wanted to argue: he wanted to throw the dead prophet's name on the table and brand himself with the sign of a murderer, but he couldn't put either to words, he couldn't get the syllables out and the thought alone was enough to make his horizon sway and his insides to turn into tight, painful knots. He swallowed and fell silent instead, wondering what made Sam so eager to stand his ground when he would not even do it for himself, but in the end he knew what kind of a person Sam was. This human was the embodiment of compassion and forgiveness and apparently he truly had some to share for the worst of them; there was not a chance that Sam did not think of Kevin like Gadreel did now, but somehow one of them chose to look past it and quite literally reach a hand across that crime to offer kindness to the one who neither had any nor deserved what he was now given.

"Sam..."

"Yeah?"

The hunter turned, hand on the room door's handle. He looked at Gadreel expectingly, the same expression he'd worn hours ago, and which Gadreel tried to match with the words that were so hard to speak but failed as he'd failed before.  
"I am sorry," he managed to say instead.

Sam nodded.  
"I know you are. Look..."  
He turned the handle and pointed Gadreel inside; the angel walked past him and entered the room despite the cold grip of fear that held him as he feared that Sam would slam the door closed behind him, for no reason other than that it was what he was used to by now. Of course Sam didn't: instead the man followed him inside the room, leaving the door ajar behind them.  
"I haven't forgotten," he continued, "There are things I haven't forgiven either. But I chose to give you a chance and I still hope to God that you won't let me down."

The angel barely nodded: his throat felt like something was strangling him physically. He cast a misty look at the bed which looked like it hadn't been touched in decades, but over which there was no layers of dust - the air was fresh as well and it was clear that someone had cleaned this place at least semi-regularly, and that the air moved freely in and out despite the room having been behind a closed door until they'd entered it a moment ago. It didn't look like a dungeon and Gadreel hoped he could make something else of it and not turn it into one once Sam was gone from his side.

"Okay, so, this is your room," the younger started over, "Feel free to make a mess of it, anything to make it feel more like it's yours. I'm going to make this clear since I don't think you're getting it - you don't have anywhere else to go. You said as much yourself. So this is _your room_ ; this is your _home_ as long as you need it to be that. Cas stays here, too, so he's not going to be dragging you back to Heaven, whether you want that or not. You have that choice, of course, but I'm not sure how welcome you are there - at least I hope that you'll stay until you're strong enough to make a stand for yourself if you still want to return."

Gadreel turned his eyes back to Sam and his chest felt like his bones were breaking, but he never knew what was causing it: the fact that he'd just been given a room of his own, or the reminder of home, of his old desires, of the things he'd thought he'd wanted more than anything else in the world and which now seemed unachievable to the point where he no longer even had the will to try. He missed home, he missed his brothers and sisters, but he knew home did not miss him and his family would jump at the chance to lock him up again: he did not know what had changed while he'd been gone, but he doubted anything was different enough to spare him from imprisonment and scorn. So he nodded, tears in his eyes but hoping they were invisible to Sam - of course they weren't, but at least the man had the courtesy to look away.

"You're free to move around by daylight when everyone's up," the hunter continued, "during night time, try to avoid it because Dean will jump at the chance to stab you and drag your sorry ass downstairs. For the first week, that's all you need to do: make yourself at home, read a book, heal up. You'll hear when my alarm goes off; I try to get up around seven but sometimes I sleep until nine. That said, even if I don't get up at seven, you can. That's your cue and anytime that happens, you're free to come out. If you want to sleep until noon, that's okay too."

Gadreel nodded again, uncertain what else to do. He was just beginning to realise that despite the stone walls here, he did have freedom, freedom unlike he'd ever had before; he wasn't tied down to anything urgent or pressing now, anything he would need to bypass his own recovery for, and he had no clear path laid out ahead for him once he was in full health again either. The only things he needed to do were what he _wanted_ to do and the things that were asked of him, but for now, nothing was. The prospect was dizzying and scary but exciting at the same time, even though he had no idea where to begin.

"If you don't sleep at all," Sam went on after letting it all sink in for a moment as he cast an examining look at the older, "I highly recommend stacking up on books or borrowing my tablet for Netflix. The alternative is sitting here staring at a wall for seven hours and you can spend your time better than that."

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Gadreel asked, not so suddenly uneasy with the amount of freedom he had in his hands.

Sam smiled crookedly, appearing as if he'd expected this question.  
"Not yet," he said, "but once you convince Dean that you're okay, you'll get to work, too. It's something you have to earn."

"Earn by doing nothing."

"Exactly. Look, the most important thing is that you fit in the team. There's no shortcut to action - if we don't trust you to have our backs, we won't give you the chance. We can't afford it. But trust me when I say that you'll have the chance to prove your worth; there's always something to do here. Except while we sleep, which is when you'll just have to make do with what you've got."

"I understand."  
Understanding did not mean that Gadreel was content with it, but the excitement hadn't yet died down either, and there was one task that had taken over the rest in priority: sleep. Sam seemed to catch up on the older's longing gaze at the bed and he cleared his throat, stepping back towards the door.

"One last thing," he said, and Gadreel looked back at him expectingly.  
Sam shook his head with a smile to banish the concern from him - Gadreel knew he'd looked as if he was expecting orders, but it seemed this was about to be something less pressing.  
"If anything comes up, any hour of the day, talk to someone. I mean it. The most important thing - the only thing that really matters - is that you're honest with us. I'm right next door. I'm offering. You feel like you need something, anything, just remember that."

Gadreel nodded, although it was a nod that came hard to him. It meant agreeing, and agreeing meant promising; he didn't know if he had that in him, but at least he could try.  
"Thank you."

Sam smiled wearily.  
"I guess that's all. Good night, Gadreel."

"Good night, Sam."


	4. Fragile Bird

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from the very relevant [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=unXVsWO3bVE) by _City and Colour_.

* * *

 

The door closed with a sound unlike that of the prison cell's. Its echo was short and the settling of it against the wooden frames seemed warmer somehow, like the door of home, which Gadreel tried to remind himself that this place was for him now. It felt unthinkable that after everything that had transpired he'd be welcome to stay, and not only as a necessary evil but as something akin to family - if he'd live here, didn't it make him that to the rest? He looked around the bare room and the blank walls and wondered for the first time how people made their homes so comfortable, so personal; he had little idea what he would have put in this room to make it his own. Bringing his clothes here from downstairs tomorrow would be a start, he imagined, but he wouldn't need to store them away for long before his recovery would allow him to no longer need another set at all. But did that mean that he could not change clothes - he knew by now that it was not always out of necessity but because of want that people put on a different set for a given day, mixing and matching what they owned simply because they could. He didn't own anything but what he'd worn when he'd come here, but maybe he would if he wanted to. The only question that remained was whether he wanted to and for now, he had no answer to give himself. He knew that Sam hadn't owned much when he'd first settled here either. His room had been bare and empty like this one with some boxes littering the floor spaces for the longest while, but then, as if simply because he'd decided so, he'd gone out of his way to buy things that he'd used to furnish and decorate it, and afterwards the whole atmosphere had changed: the white space had turned into something that was Sam's own, and Gadreel had felt him in each corner of it to the day he'd acted out of desperation and walked them both out, sealing his own fate as an enemy to the brothers. Now he was back and he had this room which held all the same potential, but did he hold that potential, too?

_You need something, anything, just remember that I'm next door._

Gadreel sat on the bed and imagined how it would be like: how he'd find Sam, place a hand over his shoulder lightly to stop him on his tracks, and ask him if he could help him make this place more like home - how he'd make a clumsy attempt at explaining that the word home for him had turned to describe Sam's own room, and that he'd like his own to resemble that, to carry that similar essence and feeling to it as Sam's room did. He closed his eyes and tried to picture what that meant for him, how a worn table would rest against the wall and how perhaps a bookshelf would sit by it, how another wall would have a couch beside it and how some books would sit upon the small table in front of the couch, but at the end of the day he didn't even know if he liked books. Sam did, and they were everywhere in his room; DVDs were the same, he had them in order by the television set and in the bookshelf. But Gadreel had no idea what he liked or what were the things that he would have placed in his own space. He'd never had space before and he'd never given it a thought. The closest thing to a room he'd ever had had been the cell that was now nothing but rubble, a nightmare of his past that he could still feel the cold of in the scars of his form, the badly healed wounds in his grace that resurrection had not wiped from him. He opened his eyes again to reassure himself that he was still in Kansas, and the bunker's nonchalant room greeted him as impersonal as it had been before. A smile made its way on his lips: he felt good here and it didn't seem unlikely that he'd be able to make this place his own, if he'd only get the chance. For that, he was set to fight through thick and thin; he wanted nothing more than to prove that he would stand with this family now, if not for anything else then simply because it was the one that had taken him in. And Sam was right about it: he'd come here for a reason. The bunker had been the first place he'd thought of, and he'd headed for it because it was the closest thing he had to a home in this realm. Here he was now, with a permission to call the place exactly that. Kindness like that could not be paid for in any other form but unfaltering loyalty, and that he could give - that he wanted to give. He needed nothing but what he had here: he wanted to be a part of something, to be accepted and respected, he wanted to serve and help and fight for those who needed it, and he knew there was hardly a better place for him but here. The only problem was that he didn't deserve to stand here as one of them, and he didn't know if he could ever feel that way even if Sam was right and he could be forgiven. If he couldn't forgive himself and if he'd hang onto his mistakes forever, then what good would it do if everyone else put his faults behind them and called him one of them? He'd never feel like it was true, but even considering forgiving himself for the deeds that he'd done felt like a betrayal and mockery of all those lives he'd taken for nothing.

The sentry lowered his gaze to the floor and his bare toes flickering to view from underneath the legs of his jeans. It was strange how looking at what he had now was different to what it had been before: there was no other soul in this vessel, for that was the last life he'd taken, and it was plain as day that he was the sole entity resurrected to this skin. Just another number to the burden he carried - he longed to feel that soul by his side but he'd torn the man from life as he'd pierced the chest of his body in the prison cell before. It seemed unfair that he was here now using this body that wasn't even his to begin with, but on the other hand, it had to mean the man himself was in Heaven and finally at peace. Perhaps it was better that way, but for the time being the sight of the toes that bent to Gadreel's will like it didn't matter to the flesh who commanded it only served to make him more insecure about himself. He didn't deserve this, he didn't deserve a room and he didn't deserve Sam's forgiveness any more than he deserved that of anyone else's. The very thought of it seemed to set a panic within him - he didn't want to be forgiven. He wanted to be punished, because that was what he deserved for all the sins he'd committed.

The room's light dimmed and then lit up bright again. Gadreel fell on his back on the bed and breathed in deep, trying to calm down his racing thoughts. It wasn't his choice to make. They all knew how guilty he was, but if the others would choose to look past that, it would be just another crime to refuse that kindness. He'd have to take what these people would offer to him and accept it: no matter which way he looked at the issue from, it was not his place to argue. Instead, he would do what Sam had asked of him - he'd learn to speak what he felt, and he'd learn to communicate his doubts instead of keeping them sealed within him. He'd be honest of his shame, his fear, and hope that his weakness would be forgiven; he'd seen now what keeping it inside would lead to, and he was set to not repeat that mistake.

Time passed slowly. For a while now, Gadreel had kept his eyes closed: it wasn't quite sleep what he tried to have for himself, but it did pass for rest. He knew that he would need to go the whole way and allow that state to take him over but it was harder than he'd thought to lower his defenses and let it happen. He couldn't hear the low, barely audible sounds of Sam moving about in the other room anymore and the silence struck fear inside him, fear that he tried to hold at bay but which kept him peeking around every now and then in the still-lit room to make sure that it had not changed. It always stayed the same, yet the worry didn't completely leave him. He knew what angels were capable of, being one himself; although no one had ever bothered to create complex scenarios for him to tear him apart emotionally for the simple reason that there were much easier ways to achieve the same results, he knew it wasn't past them to convince a prisoner of having walked free only to shatter the illusion and reveal the prison from within. It seemed too elaborate, the whole story after the fall, but fear wasn't logical. Torture had taught Gadreel that much - its main purpose was to scare until fear was everything, and only then inflict the pain. The power wasn't in the dragged out suffering but in the strength of what a mind could do to it, how the prisoner would make his own mind the pit where pain was the beginning and the end of all even when nothing touched him physically. Yet now the room was the same each time he looked at it, and the relief he felt grew stronger the more he started trusting his environment. It had been half a day since his resurrection, perhaps more, and he was finally beginning to feel whole again, yet parts of him still felt out of place and oddly hollow or empty like he hadn't completely finished returning yet. His ears tuned to listen to the other room but there was still a perfect silence there - as it continued, a part of the angel wished he'd known the time but another was glad that the night seemed to span on infinitely, as his head was still full of thoughts and making sense of everything was exhausting even now that he was doing nothing else at all.

Still somehow, unexpectedly, he found himself falling asleep even as his head was still as full as before. The noise didn't necessarily quiet down but rather it became an uniform wave into which it was easy to fall back to: solitary words, images and subjects stood out from between the lengthy periods of nothing in particular, shaking a part of Gadreel back to wakeful state, but overall the experience was pleasant for him. It continued for a while until cold sneaked past the layers of clothing, creating small discomforts like prodding touches all over his body and he had to roll over to pull the blanket around himself. He never turned off the lights in fear of the room changing after all - he wasn't certain how keeping a lamp on would keep reality intact, but it seemed calming somehow to have it regardless. For an hour or two he could sleep without interruption, body curled up underneath the soft, thick blanket full of what felt like feathers as he ran his fingers along the bumps trapped inside the cloth, but then a new sound brought him back from rest. It sounded like low moans, like someone in pain; someone hurt, or someone afraid. He stirred, unsure if it was his mind creating those sounds, but even when he felt completely awake he could just make them apart from the silence. Sometimes a break was created between one sound and the next, almost long enough to convince him that more wouldn't follow, but then he heard it again - a human sound, low and pained like quiet crying, something that clenched his chest and caused him to climb into a sitting position. He knew those sounds. It didn't make it better, but he didn't know how to help, not this time: he stood from the bed, the floor suddenly cold against his warm bare feet, and wandered to the wall separating him from Sam Winchester. He pressed his hands over the surface and his forehead soon followed as if he could accidentally slip through and he wished that it would happen: that he'd simply end up on the other side, close enough to touch the other's hand, to convince him as he had for months before that there was nothing to fear, that he was safe. Now he could do nothing: he'd been prohibited from walking out before the alarm, and he feared it would still be hours until then. On the other side of the wall the sounds continued, growing more intense and more afraid, more desperate for someone, anyone, to take away the nightmare that caused them.

Somehow each of those sounds felt like a cut across Gadreel's chest and he closed his eyes, lips parting as he aimed his thoughts to the man in the other room.

_I'm sorry._

 

* * *

 

Sam's whole world was shaking. He sat straight in his bed, wet from head to toe and panting audibly; the darkness around him had been pushed aside by the yellow light of his reading lamp but it didn't chase away the nausea and the fear and the feeling of helplessness. He wanted to tear apart his skin and step out of it, dig until he found what he had inside him, dig until his filthy blood had poured out and dig until he could be certain there was no one else hiding in his flesh, and he trembled and retched and gagged and shivered and tears flowed down his cheeks but he couldn't remember what he was supposed to do about it. Finally, as the nightmare that he couldn't remember any more than he could remember how to function normally faded from him, he could wipe his wet face to his blanket and count his breaths to calm down. With trembling hands he reached for his phone beside the reading light he couldn't remember putting on and lit up the screen to see the time; 2:15 in the morning meant that it was likely that Dean and Castiel hadn't yet locked themselves into their shared bedroom, and Sam wanted to take the chances. He slid out of his bed as quietly as he could, feeling his pajama pants part from his skin only after some help from him. He cast a look at the door next to his own but although he could see that the light was still on inside the room, no one seemed to be moving about, a detail that at least helped to settle his mind somewhat as Gadreel was one of the last people he wanted to bump into in this state of mind. Decisive to try and make as little noise as he could, Sam turned for the corridor and followed it until the row of bedrooms was left well behind him.  
To his relief he could hear the television to the study; it was a sure way to tell that the hunting party was still wide awake, and Sam followed that sound feeling warmth slowly return to his toes. At the doorway he knocked first, afraid to interrupt something he really didn't need to see, but soon enough he heard Dean's voice call him in.

"Can I borrow Cas for a moment?" Sam asked, all too aware that he had to look sickly and pale even in the dimly lit entertainment room.

"Everything okay?" Dean asked him in turn, but the angel had already stood up.

"Yeah," Sam heard himself reply, "yeah, everything's okay. I just couldn't sleep."

The older nodded, although Sam knew that he knew there was another reason for this visit. Castiel had a knowing look about him when he followed Sam out and closed the door behind him - he was wearing a loose grey Led Zeppelin shirt from Dean's collection, and it hung too far below his jean-clad hips making him look surprisingly small and very much like a human being. He had a small, gentle smile on him when he turned to look at Sam.  
"Another nightmare?" he asked quietly, and Sam promptly nodded.  
He nodded in turn, topping it with a sigh.  
"I was afraid it might happen tonight."

Sam looked away; he'd known to expect it just as much.  
"I just want to hear that I'm alone here," he uttered to the wall.

Castiel took his hand and he could feel the energies clash between their skins before the angel let go again.  
"You are very much alone," the seraph spoke in a calm, certain voice that made Sam feel at ease, "There is nothing wrong with you."

"Thanks, Cas."

"As you know, I'll always be happy to help."  
The seraph was still smiling when Sam looked at him and nodded.

"Good night, Cas. Tell Dean for me."

"Of course. Good night, Sam."

The younger turned around and headed for the kitchen: he had a sour taste in his mouth, one that he wanted to wash down with a glass of water, and he welcomed the detour before climbing up the stairs again. To his surprise, the door next to his was more ajar now - he didn't know if it was because the sentry had felt claustrophobic trapped inside or if it was because of him, but to make sure he walked past his own door and knocked quietly on the next. He heard steps heading for it and waited until the door opened.  
"Can't sleep?" he asked, oddly comforted at seeing Gadreel firmly still occupying a body other than Sam's own.

"Having some trouble with it," the angel admitted with a hint of an apologetic smile, "I thought leaving the door open might help after all. I heard you leave - is everything alright?"

Sam nodded.  
"I'm fine," he said, uncertain if it was a lie or not; it would be ironic of him to lie after prompting the other to be nothing but honest, so he chose to continue.  
"I woke up a while ago and just needed to walk it off. I'm heading back to bed now, just wanted to make sure you're alright too."

Gadreel nodded.  
"I am fine," he replied, shifting weight from one leg to the other, "You should not be concerned for me."

"The others aren't asleep either, so I guess we're all just bad at sleeping on schedule. Anyway, you should try, I'm pretty sure being resurrected and almost freezing to death on the same day isn't something you can just shrug off."

The older seemed shy for a moment, as if embarrassed or touched by Sam's words, but it was impossible to tell what it was exactly that caused him to turn away and consider his next words. When he looked back at the younger he seemed happy nonetheless.  
"You seem exhausted as well," he noted, "so I suppose this will be the time to wish you a good night again."

Sam chuckled, leaning away from the door towards his own.  
"I guess. See you in the morning."

"I hope you sleep better this time," Gadreel replied, stepping away from his door.

As Sam opened the door to his bedroom he could hear the bed creaking in the other room as the older settled on it again. With the lingering after-effects of the nightmare still haunting his subconscious he locked the door behind him and left the light on as he climbed to bed and pulled his blanket up to his ear.

 

* * *

 

Gadreel remembered waking up to the sound of Sam's alarm and staying in that half-conscious state until a little after the man had disappeared downstairs; he remembered the sounds of Sam walking about in his room, dressing up and eventually opening and closing the door which he'd locked the night before. Afterwards the sentry fell asleep again, his body and grace having finally reached a common ground about the matter - he slept soundly for hours more and when he woke up, he was still feeling heavy and groggy and not quite awake although falling asleep again seemed impossible. He'd lost his jeans at some time during the night but only remembered it vaguely, yet sitting up wearing nothing but his shirt and a pair of boxers made him feel human in a way that was strangely enjoyable, as if it granted him a temporary escape from the reality of his existence. He stretched his legs just to see how they moved; he'd never undressed in this form before, and while he knew parts of Sam's body by heart - the man's hands, feet, arms and knees the best - he'd never seen this body without the layers of clothing covering it. An odd, hollow feeling gripped him at the realisation that this body was his now in a whole different way that it, or any other body, had ever been before. He wasn't possessing anyone: this was his own skin, his own body, his legs and arms and chest and stomach and hips and all. The notion made him shiver and instinctively he looked for the actual owner of the body from within him, but of course he could find nothing; with stiff legs he walked across the room to lock the door, and afterwards he leaned to it with his eyes closed, trying to come to terms with this sudden revelation and calm the adrenaline rushing into the vessel's veins as a result.  
He felt oddly guilty as he took off the shirt and looked down at his chest and stomach; he turned his head to see how his shoulder looked, and how seamlessly it connected to the muscular arm which then eventually turned to a wrist and a hand. He matched the tone of his hand's skin with the tone of his stomach's, tracked down the fine trail of hair until it met the collar of his boxers and with his head tilted he stepped out of that last bit of clothing just the same to see how the body looked in full.  
His fingertips traced the scarred sigil on his chest and a part of him already reached to ask the soul about it; about how he felt of this whole thing, that their places had switched, but he was met with the same thick silence as before where the soul had previously resided. He frowned, palm sliding down his hips and the rougher texture of his thigh until relaxing to his side, and he sat down just to see how his stomach bent, how the tracks between his hips and thighs turned to folds like seams. From there he fell back on his back, eyes tracing the ceiling and mind concentrated on how exposed he felt - he'd never really felt that way before. He'd never taken the time to notice. Of course Sam had often enough showered and spent some time without clothes in his own room, sometimes even slept that way although it had been rare and only when Gadreel had guarded him against the memories from his past, but he'd never really taken part in how the man had felt in his own skin. It had never been Gadreel's and he'd taken as much distance as he'd been able to, spared as much privacy for the man as he possibly could, for what it had been worth in the end when he'd already broken that all in the fundamental, all-encompassing way that he had. It wasn't something he was proud of, but he'd tried to do his best, he'd tried to be as fair as he could after the worst damage was done: he'd performed some damage control, tried to keep out of Sam's life the best he could, even though in a situation like that the best he could was not much at all. But this was different. There was no shame in exploring this, getting to know this body, as somehow it had been granted to him now: it had become his and he was breaking nothing by familiarizing himself with it. If the scars over the sigil were ignored, it was flawless: the original blemishes were still where they'd been this whole time, those broken bones he hadn't straightened and some scars he hadn't removed as he'd always believed they belonged to the man to whom all of the body had belonged, and even now he had no intention of making them disappear even though the man whose history they were was gone. He wondered if he could remove the marks he'd left upon the flesh himself but found out soon enough that the area was somehow sealed away from his powers and he couldn't affect it; it was a mark that branded his grace just the same as it branded the flesh and it seemed to be a part of him now. So it would have to be, then; it would serve as a reminder of the things he'd done wrong and how it had all ended, the mark of a lesson learned. The previous day he'd longed for the silence and relief of death, but today he felt different. Sleep had washed away that exhaustion from him and Sam had given him hope that he hadn't realised he'd lost, and now that he got up again, pulled back on his underwear and the jeans and the shirt, he wondered if this life would be different. It had started out different: he wasn't lying now. He was perhaps keeping things, but he wasn't keeping things that made much difference, nothing like what he'd been hiding before. What he remembered of his death was a private thing no one had to know about; it had been the worst moment of his life and he would rather seal that memory within him and deal with it in time on his own terms. Perhaps after a while he'd feel like sharing it, perhaps he'd find someone willing to listen, but for now it hurt too much and it was still too close for him to properly examine it, and so it was best to leave behind. He had other things to concentrate on now, things that waited just outside that door, but joining life as it had started for him here was a deed that demanded some kind of courage he seemed to lack now that he turned to face it.

Gadreel reached his hand towards the locked door, twisted open the lock and then stood there, swaying, almost moving and then ceasing to again. His mouth twitched, relaxed, then turned to a pout; he attempted again but ceased mid-movement, heart racing and breath escaping as a trembling, scared little sigh.

He cast a look behind him, then turned: he made his bed and straightened his shirt, walked a circle within the room and then returned to the door, breathed in deep and finally opened it.  
The corridor was full of sounds from ahead - he could hear Dean Winchester's voice mid-sentence, the smile in it, and then Sam replying more quietly but in a conversational tone. Castiel's voice joined in for a brief moment before Dean spoke over him, and he could hear Sam laughing: it was the kind of a conversation that he desperately wanted to join but knew would immediately cease the moment he'd walk in the room, so he walked the corridor slowly, smiling as he listened to the others speak. Scent of freshly made coffee lingered in the air more thickly the closer he got, turning tempting as he entered the stairway.

"Look who's up," Dean's voice caught up with him.

He raised his eyes to see the man leaning to the wall with a cup of coffee in one hand and the other's thumb pushed in the pocket of his jeans. Their eyes met and Gadreel stopped on his tracks: he cast a lost look past the hunter, caught Sam's eyes and returned to watch Dean instead feeling a little safer than before. It was ridiculous how vulnerable this man made him feel, but it had much to do with the fact that Gadreel had nothing to defend himself with. His will to fight Dean was less than nothing and he would not take up the stance in the unlikely case the man would still choose to attack him, and such a position left him feeling exposed in a different manner than he'd felt before.

"Slept like a princess, I take it. We've got some work for you, Sam says you might be interested."

The hunter turned around and motioned Gadreel to follow him, which the sentry did rather carefully but promptly: Sam glanced at him again when he entered the hall but didn't say anything, and Castiel had vanished from sight. Dean sat on the table and patted a pile of papers written in Enochian.

"Translation," the man clarified, "Get through this pile and you've earned the coffee you soaked up like a sponge yesterday. Sounds fair, right?"

Gadreel nodded, moving closer. He was wary of settling by the table next to the older Winchester and Dean seemed satisfied to notice it: he drank his coffee slowly without any intention to move away as the sentry lifted a couple pages from the pile.  
"Spellwork," the angel realised.

"We'd like all that in romanized text and then translated to English. Half a page for translation and half a page for easy-to-read Enochian; it's for science, we're just dead tired of scrolling through Enochian when neither of us is exactly fluent in it. Apparently the Men of Letters were since we can't find a trace of this work ever being done before for any of these papers."

Gadreel nodded again. He raised his eyes to Dean and found the younger's gaze curious as he examined Gadreel in turn.

"Well, what are you waiting for? The pen's right next to the blank paper. I hope your handwriting makes more sense than the originals."

"Quit pestering him, Dean, he's going to work a lot better if you quit yapping about it."

"Oh, c'mon, Sammy. You wanna call the shots? Fine. Just make sure he actually does it."

The hunter slipped off the table and wandered towards the kitchen: Castiel had stood by the doorway for a moment although Gadreel only now noticed him, and when Dean found his way all the way to the seraph, he saw their hands joining before they disappeared through the door.

"I told you he'll get over it," Sam uttered, turning a page in his book and sipping his coffee before casting an amused glance at Gadreel.

The sentry sat down before his work and slid down the first page from the pile: he read through it once and found it quite simple to translate, but the next in line appeared to be a part of some longer spell which would not go down so easily.  
He turned to look at Sam next.  
"I am glad to see their relationship has changed," he said with a hint of a sad smile, "It was painful to watch before."

"Oh, you mean - yeah. That. It took a while. You noticed?"

Gadreel's smile turned more confident and he nodded.  
"It was hard to miss," he noted and was glad to see Sam laugh.

"Trust me, I was just glad to see it over. Dean thought I'd flip and he was so damn disappointed when I just - when I already knew. Want a cup? I'm getting another for myself, I could bring you one on the same run. Might help you wake up."

"That would be kind," the older said with the same smile still intact on his lips.

Sam flashed him one of his own and stood up, gathering his own cup and another used one from the table as he went. He'd barely gotten back with the coffees when suddenly the lights flashed and an awful siren-like sound blasted through the hall: the hunter spilled some coffee on the table, cursing as the hot liquid trickled over his hand, and quickly laid down Gadreel's cup to save himself from further accidents. Then he promptly wiped his own cup to the loose shirt he was wearing, placed it on the table and cast an expecting look towards the kitchen's direction - before more than ten seconds had passed, both Dean and Castiel appeared through it.

"We'll check it," Dean stated as they moved through, "Keep an eye on the dead guy."

Sam nodded, sitting down: he watched them go with a concerned frown on his features.

"Was that the alarm you referred to earlier?" Gadreel asked him after a moment of silence: he'd barely managed to start the translation.  
His voice seemed to startle Sam, but before he could apologise, the younger nodded.

"Yeah, that's the one."

It was Gadreel's turn to frown.  
"Another resurrection?"

"Could be. Might be. If the location's anywhere within a day's ride, I think Dean and Cas are gonna make the drive straight away, see if they can find anything."

The older nodded, wishing he could offer to help: this seemed the kind of work he felt a calling to, but he knew better than to ask for the chance. He wasn't there yet, and the pile of papers in front of him was the first step along the path to joining them on the road. Sam sipped his coffee, aiming a glassed-out stare at the doorway through which the others had disappeared, and Gadreel returned to his work; as the pen ran the lines down upon the paper he hoped that his handwriting was more legible than Enochian in Dean's eyes. When the page was finished he realised that he was sitting there with the man who'd told him to ask him anything, so he lifted it up, turned it around and slid it across the table. It woke the younger up from the trance he'd fallen into and Gadreel watched the look in his eyes turn from confused to questioning as he read the paper.

"Is it clear enough?" the older asked concernedly.

Clarity returned to Sam's eyes and he laughed.  
"It's perfect - and you did it damn quickly, too. You'll be done with this in a couple hours if you keep it up, and that's a lot faster than Dean wants you to be finished."

"Should I slow down?"

"No," Sam scoffed, returning the page to him, "He just wants to put you through as much hell as he can for the sake of it and because he's petty like that. It'll be good for him to see that you're not bothered by his antics. Take it for penitence or whatever if it helps you get through it. That's just work no one else in here wanted to do."

Gadreel nodded. He smiled as he lowered his gaze to begin the work on the next page.  
"I have nothing against this work," he stated warmly, "It feels good to be useful."


	5. First Lessons

* * *

 

Sam watched the Impala vanish up the ramp leading out of the garage. He was shivering with cold, but all that he wanted to do was to climb up to his room, pick up a thick sweater and head out to the white world outdoors. Still as he turned back to return to Gadreel he wondered if that was an option he had: if he could leave the angel alone for a while or if it was irresponsible this soon. A weight in the pit of his stomach told him it would be a risk he shouldn't take, and that the older was likely too weak to come out with him either - if he'd ask, Gadreel would agree to come regardless of how he felt, so it was the safest bet to abandon the desire for now. The fact came with some additional heaviness and as Sam crossed the bunker towards his room to pick up his laptop, he felt as if the climb exhausted him like running up a long hillside. When he returned he found the resurrected sentry still writing away on the assignment given to him by Dean: he hadn't stopped since starting and getting Sam's approval for the quality of his work, and he'd already halved the pile given to him. Dean had left Sam with some ideas for further tasks for the angel, but Sam imagined he could figure out something more relevant than cleaning the kitchen, although he had no doubt that Gadreel would have taken up that task with the same kind of devotion as for, it seemed, any other order given to him. He wondered if there would be something that could both keep the older usefully preoccupied and buy Sam the time to take a short walk; he needed the fresh air and for once, if he hadn't been automatically assumed to stay back to look after Gadreel who'd somehow become his responsibility for the sole reason that he hadn't stabbed him in the doorway, Sam would have loved to join the two on the hunt regardless of how he'd felt about staying behind the day before. Not much had changed since: he still loved the idea of curling up on the couch with a good book, but he didn't love it as much knowing that he was tied to it and had somehow ended up being the babysitter of the one angel because of whom he kept waking up in the night not certain if he was still himself or if someone else was controlling him - or even if he was even in his own room anymore, or somewhere else entirely. On many occasions, much like the night before, he fell asleep with his lights on like a child afraid of the dark, but it helped him place himself where he was supposed to be when he woke up. Sometimes, however, he couldn't remember for certain if he'd really fallen asleep in his own bed or if he'd been taken there by some other force, and on those nights there was nothing to stop the swift, soundless collapse: he came down like a crumbling building with nothing keeping his sanity intact.

That was how Castiel had found out about him, this embarrassing little secret that he'd stored away in shame. Dean still didn't know the whole depth it ran - Sam had chosen not to show him, and had kept it hidden to this day. He didn't want to scatter any more salt into that wound for there was nothing that Dean now could do to heal it; the only thing it would do was to make the festered thing bleed again, and that was the last thing Sam needed. He was more than happy to just be brothers again: they'd been through too much by now to dwell in the things that their worst times had put them through. Sam knew Dean had never intended to cause this pain to him, and even though he was still responsible for it, Sam was past anger and he'd forgiven the older for it a long time ago, even if the blessing of forgetting what had happened was something he'd never reach up to. It was something he knew Dean felt guilty about, but at the same time he understood that the other had felt like he'd had no choice; the more he'd thought about it, the more he could picture himself in Dean's shoes. He'd never admit that to Dean, not beyond the half of an apology he'd made for the words he'd let out too harsh, but they'd been far from healthy back then and definitely less than capable of making choices that did not have devastating consequences which they'd simply been too blind to see from the mist they'd lived in. That was past, and he would have kept the full truth from Castiel just the same if he hadn't ended up literally running into the angel on one of those nights when things got out of hand and he had nothing to calm himself down with.

Sam laid the laptop on the table opposite of Gadreel; the older watched him and smiled before returning to his work. For some reason that smile caught on Sam and he sat down with it; it lingered on his lips even when he turned to opening documents and his mailbox in another window.

It had been months ago - perhaps a year had passed since. Castiel had cornered Sam against the corridor's wall with his palm pressed over the man's chest, and even though Sam had barely seen him and had fought to escape, making excuses and claiming he was perfectly fine although it had been plain as day that he wasn't, he'd persisted until the younger had calmed down. They'd had tea in the kitchen, and it was perhaps the first time that Sam realised he didn't need to be guilty about going to Castiel in the middle of the night: Castiel never slept. He rested because Dean slept, but he himself as an angel never did, and even if his vessel fell asleep, he was still alert and absolutely in no need for the state himself. He'd sat with Sam for hours, slowly digging out what was wrong - his attention and keen, quiet support made the younger eventually in parts confide in him about the nightmares he had, about how sometimes he lost track of time or blacked out for some minutes and how all that made him so scared that he wasn't alone in his own skin that the thought never seemed to leave him alone anymore. He'd even talked about those times he'd found himself bleeding after shower because he'd tried to wash that feeling out, and weeks later, perhaps a month after that when they'd formed some kind of a secret night time alliance with the seraph, he'd even confessed that he'd tried to harm himself deliberately to get a reaction from the entity that was not possessing him. Before, when Gadreel had been with him, his wounds had healed unnaturally and often after blacking out or losing consciousness for a moment he'd simply woken up without them as if they'd never existed, and he'd tried to replicate that to catch what he was so certain lived within him now only to find out that it seemed sneakier than before - that now no matter how deep the cut he put in his skin, it never healed suspiciously. He'd eventually been driven into intentionally getting into dangerous situations while working on cases just to convince that entity to come forth to save him to a point where Dean had told him to stay back while he and Castiel hunted instead; that he could stay in the bunker and do the archive work, the research that he so loved, never saying a word about how it was to keep him alive but Sam had known. He'd agreed and he'd known; it was an unusual thing for him, but this time - his weakness allowed him to step back from what he'd wanted to step back from anyway. He was confident that Castiel would keep Dean safe and he didn't have to worry about the older going off on his own, and Dean wouldn't have wanted to, either. This, however, allowed him to spend time with the seraph alone, and that was something that had been crucial for their relationship to grow - Sam was happy for that. All in all, despite the places it had stemmed from, this turn in their lives had worked out the best for them. Even his blackouts had grown lesser since as the stress relieved somewhat, but whenever they happened, the downward spiral began - but now Sam knew where to go before it got out of control. All it took now was a touch from the older to tell him there was nothing hiding within him, and he could hang onto that until the feeling was gone. He knew that Castiel never pretended to make sure but that he always did exactly what he promised to do; Sam could feel his grace search him, and that feeling never felt like an invasion of his privacy but like relief, like real help. It had brought him to a point where he rarely had to seek for it anymore, after all the likelihood of something possessing him when he didn't even partake in hunts anymore was close to nothing, but sometimes his vivid dreams brought that fear back and he still needed the reassurance that Castiel's aid offered him.

Curiously enough Gadreel rarely played part in Sam's nightmares: more often it was Lucifer taking his place. His mind had no trouble mixing up these two occasions to make it as horrible as it could be for him to endure - sometimes he wasn't sure if he hadn't drank demon blood in his sleep, and he'd find himself throwing up just to make sure. He was a mess and he didn't have excuses to cover it up, especially not now that he had the time to live with it, but at the same time, he couldn't feel too ashamed about it. He coped - he'd survived. He'd lived through this all, and these were the scars that his past had left upon him. He was lucky to be still breathing, even if the things that had allowed him to continue had not always been blessings.

The sound of incoming mail cut the hunter out of his thoughts and made Gadreel raise his head again. Sam watched him over the laptop's screen and raised his phone.  
"It's not Dean," he said with a crooked smile, "they're probably ten percent of the way there by now."

Gadreel nodded.  
"I should know that," he replied softly, returning to his work, "but -"

"It has everything to do with you and it's important," Sam finished, "I'd be jumpy too. Give it a couple hours. How are you feeling?"

"Better, thank you. I've felt good all day."

"Sleep helped?"

The angel nodded again.  
"Thank you for saving me yesterday," he replied with a barely visible, crooked smile.

"I don't know how they could miss it but you looked like you were about to just collapse," Sam huffed, opening the mail he'd gotten from a temporary address.  
"Figured you're more useful to us if we don't drive you back to death on the first night."

"It was kind of you regardless."

Sam shrugged.  
"You're welcome."  
He had no idea what he'd just read, so he read it two times again before typing out a response. He couldn't seem to hold together a thought long enough to make the reply sound like it wasn't patched together from sentences that had nothing to do with one another, but he sent it out anyway, thoughts still lingering outdoors.  
"Up for a short walk?" he finally asked, unable to keep himself from it, "Your clothes are probably dry by now."

"Of course. Shall I finish this page first?"

"No need to hurry, I just want to grab some fresh air, see the sky."

 

* * *

 

Snow crunched under Gadreel's feet. He treaded the path next to Sam, creating it from scratch where none could be seen from under the snow. Sam seemed to have a heading and Gadreel simply adjusted to that - he could feel the younger relax by his side the further they went and it helped him concentrate on the environment and the scents and sounds of it in a whole new way. There was no danger here and they weren't going anywhere of importance, at least not as far as he knew, and he'd never taken a stroll like that after his imprisonment. He'd always been going somewhere, but not now: it was the first chance he truly had to simply experience the creation around him, and he loved the opportunity and ceased it to his best ability. He didn't mind the quiet, either; Sam seemed to want no words between them and he was content with that, content with just listening and walking.  
They'd walked along the road at first, perhaps for half a mile, and then turned to walk between two fields instead; the path hadn't been travelled by anything since the snow had began to fall and as a result, their feet disappeared within the white up to the ankles. Somewhere further away a dog was barking, and there was a crow hidden in a snowy tree somewhere out of sight - occasionally as if in response to the dog the crow would make noise as well.

"Cold yet?" Sam finally asked after twenty minutes of silence.

Gadreel shook his head although he wasn't sure if the younger had noticed.  
"Not yet."  
It wasn't entirely true: his fingertips and toes felt the bite and he was busy stretching and bending them for warmth, but overall he felt good to continue. He knew what Sam meant and the response to that was the one he'd given, however.  
"It's beautiful here."

"Yeah."  
For a while, neither said anything more: they switched onto a track made by human feet and dog paws and followed it through a small patch of trees.  
"First snow has something to it," Sam continued after a while, "something that snow a week from now won't have anymore. You get a resistance to the cold from that. It just feels brighter and more beautiful than any snow after it. I like snow. I like taking walks during winter, maybe more than in the summer, even though it's not as convenient."

"Everything is quiet."

"Last year, we didn't get much of a winter. This year seems better about that."

Gadreel nodded.  
"The year I spent here didn't look like this either."

"No, it really didn't. It was wet and grey and terrible."  
Sam chuckled and stopped - he ran his palm over a trunk of a tree and glanced up towards the branches.  
"This'll probably be gone next week," he said, turning to look at Gadreel instead, "so I'll enjoy it now. Besides, it's a good way to wait for the news. The time goes quicker when you're out doing something instead of holed up underground."

"Sam, may I ask you something?"

Sam nodded.  
"Sure. Although technically, you already did."

Gadreel felt a crooked smile on his lips and he shook his head, turning to look away.  
"I was simply wondering why you would bring me here with you. Perhaps rather why you treat me like a friend, even though - I would not expect such a thing, least of all from you."

The younger shrugged.  
"Maybe that's my reason," he said, then hesitated - the fact that he was about to say more lingered like electricity in the air between them.  
"Honestly, I don't know. I just try to be human. I have the choice between treating you like trash and treating you like an ally and because you are the latter, I'd rather act accordingly."

"It means much to me," Gadreel continued, although he felt nervous and speaking the words was difficult: they made him vulnerable.  
"I know I should not have come here, but like before, I suppose I was desperate."

Sam shook his head.  
"I'm glad that you did. I really am. Not only because it helps us figure things out but - in general. There are... a lot of things that we never got the chance to face."  
He looked at the older and there was a pleading tone to his expression.  
"I've been hoping you'd bring them up."

"I've tried," Gadreel replied, noticing he'd instinctively bent his head down in remorse, "It feels difficult to do. I would not ask for forgiveness for the things I've done so I do not know how to address them."

"I guess that's the hard part. Just bringing them up. Pick a word. We can go from there."

The angel raised his eyes back to Sam and thought for a moment. Cold pushed through his jeans and he could feel his thighs tingling, fighting to preserve feeling.  
"You," he said then, lips bending to an apologetic smile for a brief moment, "What I did to you. I am sorry. I knew it was wrong, yet I - thought the ends would justify the means. But it turned worse and I - I could not face what I'd done."

Sam nodded. He turned to look away and stayed quiet for a while before finally taking a couple steps onwards and motioning Gadreel to follow.  
"You saved my life," he said.

"I did it against your will - I hurt you."

"Yeah. That too."  
They walked through the snow to a new road where the snow had already turned to brown slush.  
"I never wanted to die, though. I just... wish I'd been given the choice. It wasn't up to Dean to decide that, or you for that matter. I know Dean was afraid I'd say no but I'm not sure I would have. It doesn't matter. You did what you did. I'm glad you brought it up. I'm glad you recognise it was awful."

"I never meant it a crime," Gadreel replied, but not in a defensive voice, "I thought that in the end I was doing something good. I knew it was wrong to bypass your consent but I never realised how badly it would affect you in the end. I never thought it through. I was - not looking forwards, I only thought of that moment, and in that moment, I thought it was the right choice to make."

"Maybe it was. I don't know. I just wish things had gone differently. It would have... saved us from a lot of pain in the end."

"And if you would have refused?"

Sam shrugged again.  
"I would have died, right? And Dean would have gone mad with grief, and things would have turned out bad anyway. I mean, it's also a possibility that I would have done it regardless, made that choice and turned the offer down. I didn't know you. I'd been possessed once by Lucifer and frankly that was... enough. But I also really didn't want to die, I was just - tired - and I didn't really have a choice either way. I wasn't going to jump back up from there. I had the choice to make it final and do some damage control but that was it. In the end, I don't know what would have happened if it had gone differently. We never will. I guess one way or the other someone was going to get hurt bad and it just ended up being me and Kevin and you and Dean all."

Gadreel nodded slowly.  
"Perhaps there was a better choice," he said as slowly, "but I could not see it then."

"I still can't see it, and ifs and buts aren't going to change what happened. My point is, I'm glad you recognise that that wasn't... I'm glad you see that it was a shitty thing to do and that you regret it. That's pretty much what I was chasing here. You should feel like crap about it, but on the other hand, you've really paid for it by now. It's just easier for me to live with it if I know you feel remorse for what you did to me."

"I do."

"Good."  
The glance Sam cast in Gadreel's direction had a strange spark of light to it, almost like amusement, although Gadreel had no idea what could have amused him in this situation. His own insides felt hollow and aching.  
"So... now that you're back," Sam continued as they made the turn back towards the bunker, "What's your plan?"

"I do not have one," the older admitted.

"If you really want it, you can stay with the team."

"I feel like I am intruding."

"You'll feel like that anywhere, I guess. At least with us you have history. You have something to work from. You know you can trust us."

Gadreel nodded.  
"I know I can," he said, "but I do not know if you should trust me in turn. I have not earned it, and I cannot demand that you'd give me that."

"I think the worst problem with you is that you have absolutely no self-esteem whatsoever."

The angel tilted his head, feeling heat upon his cheeks even though he couldn't tell if it was due to the cold or because of embarrasment or some other emotion he was less familiar with. Sam watched him as they walked on, smiling wearily.  
"Honestly, think about it. You find some angels who are willing to let you stay with them. Do you think you'd feel comfortable with them, that you'd trust them not to secretly hate you underneath it all?"

The older shook his head hesitantly.

"My point. You already know what we feel about you," Sam continued, "that's a basis you can work from. You know we won't stab you in the back, even Dean won't sink that low again, and you know the issues you need to address to stand with us. We have work for you and if you're willing, we need you - we need your help and we need allies. I know Cas will never admit it but he feels lonely and kind of separate from us still because he's not human. He needs a brother as badly as you do. You could stay."

"And you would be alright with that?"  
The look Sam gave him made Gadreel feel a sting of pain within him.  
"You would truly wish to welcome someone who hurt you the way I did to be part of what is like a family to you?"

Sam nodded.  
"I don't blame you. Not really. I mean, I do for the obvious things, but I've forgiven you. I can live with that. The problem is that I'm not sure if you can. As long as you can't forgive yourself, you'll never feel welcome anywhere. Sometimes, you just have to put yourself first, to stop thinking how I feel about this and just listen to what I say and stop looking for hidden meanings or unspoken things from between the lines. I say what I say because I chose those things to be voiced. It's for a reason. I'm basically pleading you to stay by now and I don't know any better than you do why I'd feel that way, but maybe we'll figure it out. I just - I said I was glad you came to us first because it meant that we're the thing you think closest to you. Don't give up on that because you think I think something. I don't, and I'm dead tired of people thinking for me."

"You want me to -"

"I need you to get over it. I need you to stop being afraid of addressing things that hurt you and I need you to talk about them to me because that's the only way I can put them behind me, and meanwhile, yeah, I want you to stick with us."

"I can do that."

"Can you?"

Gadreel smiled, lowering his gaze to the road.  
"I will try," he corrected himself, and the sound of Sam chuckling warmed him like a hot drink.


	6. Paperwork

* * *

 

They returned to the bunker after fifty minutes outdoors, and at least from what Gadreel could tell, the walk seemed to have refreshed the younger by quite a bit. Sam hung his clothes over a chair and told the angel to ditch his jacket; Gadreel did as requested, although the thought hadn't occurred to him at all. It did make his life easier: his grace used less of its power when he did what was necessary to take care of his vessel in natural ways, and controlling its temperature was an easy way to spare some extra strength for his own recovery. He settled back to his translations but found the pile almost done with - the thought of being left with nothing to do seemed unappealing to him.

"Do you have more work for me once I am done with this?" he asked, hesitant to even start before knowing if this was all that he was to do before the others would return or at least send word of their findings back to the bunker, where Sam would hopefully share them with him.

To his relief, however, Sam nodded.  
"If you want, I can think of quite a few things," the younger replied, eyes twinkling almost playfully.

"I would prefer to stay busy," the sentry told him, his voice still insecure but relieved.

"Good. As I said, there's a lot to do here - don't worry about running out of work. I'll make sure you get the most miserable job I can think of next; I'm pretty sure I already have it planned out for you."

Gadreel smiled, sighing; he felt light and content when he began the translation again. He was done in an hour, and Sam sent him to work on the Enochian section in the library: the books and notes were in disorder, but since only Castiel was fluent in the language and he rarely did paperwork, no one had done anything to fix it. The section was split in two - there were the books in one half and hundreds upon hundreds of papers and files in the other, and while the books were somewhat easy to label in English and set next to one another by subject and relation, the files were another matter entirely. It required Gadreel to open and read them through, which took time even for an angel to do, but the informational value was rewarding enough to keep him at work for two more hours without a break or even the thought of one crossing his mind. He would have continued longer if it wasn't for Sam's interruption.

"Still at work?" the younger asked from the doorway.  
He carried his laptop under his arm and since the last time Gadreel had seen him he'd changed into a loose sweater over the tee he'd been wearing before.

The sentry nodded.  
"I hope you do not mind the mess," he noted, eyeing the piles of files scattered around him.

"That's not a mess," Sam chuckled, "That's organization in process. I just wanted to ask you if you want something to eat, because I'm starving."

"I do not need -"

"I know angels don't eat. It might help, though, if you did."

Gadreel thought for a moment. A paper slid from between the file he was holding and he replaced it within the folder again before finally nodding.  
"Perhaps I could try."

Sam nodded.  
"I'll let you know if they call, or if anything happens, before dinner's ready. Just keep up the good work. I guess this'll keep you busy for a bit. Oh, and - if you find anything you think might be relevant, let me know, alright?"

"Of course."

After Sam had gone, Gadreel returned to reading through the folders. One of them contained a list of all known angels: it went on for pages and included the sentry's own name, which surprised him and made him feel conflicted - on one hand, it felt good to know he'd never been forgotten. On the other, he knew his reputation was nothing worth taking pride in: his notes mentioned his position in Eden prior to the fall of man, and implied connection with the nephilim. The latter was untrue, as the first nephil had been born some centuries after Gadreel's imprisonment when the garrisons had fallen out of order and gone through a chaotic period which, to Gadreel's knowledge, had eventually been brought to an end through minor bloodshed but with increased security and by reinforcing order with a more severe threat of punishment applied upon all ranks. It had either directly or indirectly resulted in the imprisonment of angels like Abner, whose crime had been relatively minor, sometimes thousands of years after the initial rebellion and disorganization had been culled from the ranks. Remembering Abner made Gadreel feel a distinctive ache in his grace, and the pain caused him to shudder and close his eyes. He missed the younger guardian - Abner had been the only true friend he'd ever had before falling. Much good had it done to Abner, who was now dead by Gadreel's hand. Absently the sentry tried to find the younger's name from the list but it wasn't there. His vessel's chest hurt and for a while he wondered if he'd managed to break it somehow, but he couldn't heal it and the realisation led to tracing that ache back to the one that he felt in his grace. Instead of filing the list with the rest of folders containing information of the ranks and duties of angels, Gadreel put this one aside: he'd edit more names onto it later and add and correct some information about those that had been marked down before. He had the means, and an inaccurate list would serve no one as well as a properly built one: perhaps he'd replace the whole thing. As he sat there wondering about it, Sam returned.

"Hey," the younger called from the door before stepping in, "Dean called. Nothing on the case yet, but they've gotten to the area and they're looking with some help from one of Cas's contacts."

Gadreel nodded, hands resting over his knees. He probably looked as lost as he felt, because the expression on the younger turned concerned.  
"Everything okay?" Sam asked.

Gadreel considered nodding again, but instead he found himself shrugging. His hand slid off of his lap and laid over the folder.  
"I found a list of angels," he said, "I thought I could contribute to it."

Sam chuckled.  
"Got your data wrong?"

The older shook his head.  
"I was more concerned about others. The list is incomplete."

"Yeah, well. I think there's more of you than some two hunded."

"Many, many more."

Sam nodded.  
"Wanna take a break? I could use a hand in the kitchen," he asked.

The sentry perked up, lips parting in surprise.  
"I do not know much about cooking," he stated the obvious.

"It's nothing complicated. I'll tell you what to do. It'll be faster that way and you can't possibly screw it up. I thought you could put together the salad while I work on the main course."

The older nodded slowly.

"Of course," he promised, although the thought made him slightly nervous.

 

* * *

 

They were eating when the call came in. Sam lifted his phone and raised a hand between himself and the sentry as if to quiet down a conversation that had not been happening: the older watched him keenly over a fork forgotten midway through the air.  
"Hold on. Hold on, I'm gonna put you on speaker."

"Sam, don't. Not yet," Dean pushed quickly to stop him.

Sam glanced at Gadreel and felt his jaw clenching as he turned away again. He kept holding his hand up, blocking the other away.  
"Okay, why? Is everything alright?"

"We found it," Dean's voice continued grimly, "the place. It's a - an old abandoned stable or something. But, uh, it's - we were too late. We're not doing this alone, Sammy. Cas thinks it's the demons. They got to her first."

"What do you mean?"  
Sam knew what he meant.

"I mean that the angel's dead again, and that's the state we found her in. Cas knew her but we didn't. We thought we'll leave an anonymous clue for the police and they can come up and wonder why they have a corpse with giant wings scorched on the ground but I mean - there's a chance her, the vessel's, family never got conclusion. So we're gonna tail out of here before it gets messy and head back home. I just wanted you to know that first. I don't know how you tell Gadreel or if there's even anything to tell but I bet he's not gonna like hearing they're being hunted down. This'll take some planning, but we'll do that when we get home. How's it been?"

"It's - we're fine. Send me a text when you know when you'll be around."

"Gotcha. Okay, gotta go. Take care."

Sam lowered the phone. His finger swiped across the screen to end the call that had already turned to the dull beeping noise resulting from Dean hanging up on him: he could hear the sound end as he laid the phone on the table. He swallowed and looked at his dinner, poked at a potato and rolled it around in the brown sauce. He could practically feel Gadreel watching him, but gathering his thoughts took a moment.  
"Okay, I'll - sum it up," he finally managed to say, lifting his head.

Gadreel nodded, his fork returned upon the plate. They both had seemingly decided to put eating aside for the time being.

"There was a resurrection," Sam said, "but the angel's dead again. Cas thinks it's the demons. Dean's calling it in to the police and they're coming back home."

The older frowned, but Sam couldn't tell if it was at the news of a dead angel or because he was adding up the information.  
"Do they know who it was?" he asked then, and Sam could have sworn he heard a nervous undertone in his voice.

"I think Dean said Cas did," Sam replied, "but Dean had never seen her before. The only thing I know is that she was in a female vessel. I'm sorry."

Gadreel shook his head.  
"It is not your fault," he said, his shoulders slumping somewhat.  
"So the demons know of this."

"I bet they're pissed."  
Sam poked his fork into the potato he'd rolled around earlier and ate it without giving it much thought.  
"I mean, Heaven hasn't been doing much. There's been - order - about things for a while now. Of course it's still war but it's under control, there are rules which the sides abide by, and there's a balance everyone's tried to keep up here. And I'm sure they think it's Heaven cheating now, I mean, each of these resurrections would be a fallen soldier resurrected, something Hell has no chance at and - hopefully never will. They don't care they get reinforcements every Sunday from the poor bastards that sold their souls, they'd take this for a renewed declaration of war and strike where it hurts. If all the angels are weak at resurrection, we need to do better than this to help them."

"You would do that - you would help us?" Gadreel asked, and Sam found himself surprised yet oddly enlightened by the question.  
He nodded.

"Absolutely," he said then, shrugging, "I mean, it's not our fight, but this may escalate. We need to figure out what's happening and we need to restore the balance. I think the most important thing is to find out if there's a pattern to the resurrections, geographically or if there's some other lead that we could follow, and get more information from where we can. I mean that we need to be faster and we need more witness accounts, even if they're all as vague as yours. Is there anything - anything - you haven't told us?"

The sentry lowered his gaze. He poked about a potato about as interested in it as Sam had been, just to give himself something distracting to watch, before looking away and scanning the neat rows of books lining up the walls in the hall. Finally he sighed.  
"Not much," he began, looking sheepishly up at the younger, "only that I do remember - I do remember what happened to me. I remember my prison and I remember how I died. But there is no lead hidden in that information: there was a silence that ended, as if falling asleep for a while, but not fully. I remember time flowing, only that I have no recollection of how much of it passed, or if it was passing at all - it felt as if I had gone underwater, that time submerged me, and coming back to life was like slowly rising back to the surface. If there is something that happened between my death and resurrection, I have no memory of it."

Sam nodded slowly, giving the words the respect they deserved but letting go of them with a hint of a sigh.  
"Thanks for being honest with me," he said then, although Gadreel had been right; the information truly held no value whatsoever for the matter at hand.  
He leaned back in his chair and impaled a piece of meat - it took forever to chew through, as soft as it was, but he welcomed the pause and thought through it.  
"Logic says there's something there," he finally continued, glancing at the sentry before aiming his gaze at the same books the other had been watching before as if they'd suddenly gained new value or changed colour since they'd last seen them, "There's an afterlife for nearly everything that we know of. It just makes sense that there's something for angels, too. But that's not helpful - I've died a bunch of times and I only remember Heaven from one occasion, and that just because I was allowed to. So if something happened, you wouldn't know about it now, because there are laws that apply to it. It's like the memories get taken away from you when you get back here. We have to assume that someone's controlling this, though: that something's calling angels back to life."

He wondered if Gadreel was thinking the same thing as he, but he didn't want to voice it. God's name had been called out so many times that he felt lost in the absence of an answer by now, even with the living proof of Him existing sitting right across from Sam at the same table, eating the same food as he did.  
"It could be anything," he finished.

"For any reason," Gadreel continued for him, "We should question why just as well - whether the intention behind it is good, or if there is something at play here that we do not yet see."

"You're outing yourself as a threat again, huh?"

The sentry smiled, lowering his gaze.  
"I am merely admitting I do not know any more than you do," he said, "but it is not about me; I feel like myself. Nothing is controlling me and nothing has corrupted what I am. I am... just me. I refer to the greater pattern unfolding. For example, I would not doubt for a moment that someone could use power like this to disrupt the balance you spoke of. There is much to gain in war and if there is order in war, it is more difficult to abuse the situation. Many can only achieve power and greatness when chaos keeps others blind to their greed."

"Well, that's a comforting thought," Sam huffed wearily.  
He finished up his plate in silence, and Gadreel followed suit soon after; afterwards they both just sat there, seemingly lost in thought, staring at the middle of the table or at the walls and the ceiling and the floors.  
"So you think someone might want to make Heaven look like it's the aggressor here?"

The sentry nodded slowly.  
"It crossed my mind. Would it not be convenient?"

"But Hell's always been kind of losing the war," Sam noted, "if anything, I think the relative peace has been helpful for them. They've re-established order and deals are going on in peace without angels messing in there inbetween, and they've grown in power although it seems to be mainly used to, you know, keeping Hell in check. They haven't seemed... warlike for a while now."

"Hell is an option that we must consider," Gadreel replied, his voice steady and serious, "but we must not overlook the option of a third player, someone who stands much to gain from the chaos even if they are not directly involved with either realm partaking in the war."

"God," Sam muttered, raising his face towards the ceiling and brushing through his hair with both hands.

Gadreel chuckled quietly, appearing surprised that he'd done so.  
"Or God," he agreed timidly, and it took Sam a moment to realise the context.  
When he did, he laughed.

"Okay, I need a painkiller," he stated then, patting the table and turning a sharper-than-expected look at the older, "You should go back to arranging the folders."

"I will do that."

 

* * *

 

_Abner. No known or specified cultural association. Guardian._

There was more to say about Abner, but nothing that Gadreel wanted to write down. He pressed the pen against his lips and watched the name, feeling suddenly as if air had been taken out of this room, as if he couldn't physically inhale; something constricted his chest and swallowing was equally difficult.  
Abner had never ranked high. He'd served his purpose well although he'd never wanted the position given to him; that was what had slowly eaten at him, as unlike Gadreel, he'd never been given the kind of duties he felt he was meant to serve. He'd never been proud of what he had to him and he'd felt that he'd deserved more, that he could do more; eventually that seed of discontent had bloomed within him, and thinking that he could make others see him for what he truly was worth, he'd deserted his post for a command that was not given to him, judging that there was no need for him to guard what was not desired by others. While he'd been gone, the sacred place had been raided, and as a punishment he'd been convicted and cast in the dungeons. Ironically him and Gadreel shared the same crime in name, although only Gadreel was charged with conspiring with the enemy and actively partaking in destroying the one place he'd guarded with his life. That was part the reason why Abner had been thrown in with him - the guards had known how devoted Gadreel was to his story, his version in which he had not abandoned post, had not conspired, had not knowingly endangered Eden's humans, and had never meant harm to them or the Garden itself. So they'd made a great show of housing him with one that they called 'his own kind'; a guardian who'd failed his duties with full consent and intention behind that failure. Abner had never meant any harm either, but it did not matter; he'd done what he'd done. At first Gadreel had taken the insult but as time had passed, he realised he cared more about the angel who shared his fate than of anything that was forced between them; he'd turned from staying away to carefully approaching the younger, and finally, when Abner in turn had slowly come to realise that they had no one but each other, befriended him. He was the one who looked after Abner when Thaddeus had turned his blade to him, perhaps to get a rise out of Gadreel or simply out of boredom at first. Later, as their relationship had grown deeper, Thaddeus had definitely seen the opportunity to hurt Gadreel via the convenient surrogate, and Abner had paid a high price for the older sentinel's friendship, yet he'd always insisted it did not matter, that what Gadreel's friendship gave him paid back the pain a thousandfold, that he'd rather rot with the sentry in their shared hell than spend the eternity without a friend like him. Gadreel had never truly believed it, but he'd always appreciated the gesture, and he'd loved Abner like he'd loved nothing since the Garden - even when he'd been broken and torn apart from his own torture, he'd spared all that he could give for the younger's benefit. He'd healed him, and where no strength was left in him he'd covered the other, made sure that he was picked first for the next round. He'd made an art form out of becoming a desirable target; it had grown his character, turned his words into poison and given him a mask that resembled pride to draw attention away from where he had none left for real. He'd learned which words to use to appear vulnerable and he knew what to do to deserve punishment, and he'd pull on both acts to his best effort if it meant sparing Abner from what he could. It worked often enough: Thaddeus had no real hatred for Abner. Abner was nothing but a way for him to waste time or a way to hurt Gadreel, and if he could dig into Gadreel directly he had no use for Abner whatsoever. It had taken very long for Gadreel to realise that Thaddeus had become obsessed with him specifically over the years; perhaps it was his supposed crime, his perceived fault in destroying Paradise, or perhaps it was simply the fact that he could never make Gadreel confess to it. No matter what he did, whom he hurt, how he hurt them, he could never get the ancient sentry to admit he'd committed any crime, or that he'd caused damage knowingly: that he'd betrayed humanity. Gadreel had refused to lie, as no one else would stand for the truth. He was the only one who bore the whole weight of it, the knowledge that he'd never betrayed, never served anything but his one true purpose: God had given him a task, and his task had been to serve mankind. Those were his orders, that was his mission. Nothing else mattered. And that was what he'd always done, even when it had cost him everything - he'd set them free, for Lucifer had been right about something in his blind hatred for God's chosen children. He'd known they were held from their true potential, that staying in Eden would never allow them to grow. What he'd hated, and what he'd thought God would despise the same, he'd planned to release and he'd brought that plan to Gadreel, and with the tongue of the mythical serpent he'd spoken the right words to appear as if he, too, wanted nothing but the best of mankind. In his stupidity, Gadreel had trusted him, for what else he was to do? Lucifer was one of the first children, the brightest, God's favourite in his stubborness and his pride and his glory all the same. He was elder to Gadreel, ranked higher, and Gadreel had never had a reason to doubt his intentions before. What he spoke, the younger had believed, and that one time he'd stepped aside but never abandoned post: he'd stood there until he'd been taken away, to the last moment, right where he belonged. And he'd known, even as his wings had been torn and he'd been chained to the cold wall of the same cell he'd finally taken his own life in, that he'd never broken his orders. He'd always served humanity.

The pen was heavy as he laid it back upon the paper, writing down the next name. None of which followed meant so many things to him as the first one, but many of them had ceased to bear meaning in this world through his blade like Abner's had. Name by name he put down his own victims, his brothers and his sisters, side by side on a list, calling forth their purpose and their place, marking down only the things that had defined them. He did not list what he found the most important: the shines of their graces, the sound of their true voices, the colours of their halos. He didn't mention their torn wings or the span which they had spread to in full health, and he didn't mention whose side they had stood on in the end, for none of that mattered. They were angels, one and the same with him, and this was the only way he could do penance, the only way he could remember them now.

The vessel's wrist grew weary and the hour late as the list went on, and slowly, to Gadreel's relief, he ran out of the names that were carved within his grace; he ran out of the names of the guardians that had stood outside his prison just the same, and he ran out of the names of those that had walked with the sentries when he'd been dragged from his post and thrown in the cell. He ran out of names of those who'd been called forth when God had chosen the one to serve Him, to serve Eden, and finally, for the time being, out of names entirely, and when he glanced up at the clock he saw it pointing past eleven in the evening.  
Behind him he could hear footsteps approaching: by the weight and the pace of them, he knew to expect Sam. He laid down the papers and filed them in the folder with the rest of the list. He'd done all he could for now.

"Wow," Sam's voice called from the doorway as Gadreel was still turning around on the couch, "I didn't know you could build so many skyscrapers out of all the papers we have in Enochian. The hell's in them, anyway?"

"You've never looked?" Gadreel asked, smiling exhaustedly.  
It wasn't solely the weariness of mind but also that of the body: he'd recovered from this hour the night before but he was by no means close to his full powers yet.

"I haven't had the time," Sam admitted, "nor the patience. I just glanced over it and filed it right there with the German. I'm not fluent in either."

The younger walked across the room and settled on the other end of the couch, eyeing the folder Gadreel was holding and the pen attached to the front cover.  
"What's that?"

Gadreel looked down and flipped the folder over, glanced through it and then handed it to Sam. The hunter took it and looked over it; Gadreel could see his mouth twitching.  
"You actually translated a few hundred names from Enochian to English and - added three pages more?"

"Both sides."

"You must have been at this the whole evening."

The sentry nodded.  
"I thought it important," he said, surprised at the tone of his voice which seemed to beg for approval.

Sam merely nodded for the time being, running his gaze across the names and the descriptions.  
"I know a few of these," he said then slowly, "Say, how many of them you think is dead?"

"Most of them," Gadreel replied heavily, jaw clenching and eyes turning down towards the floor.

"Hm."  
In the silence that followed Sam kept turning the pages back and forth, lost in his thoughts - Gadreel didn't find a reason to draw him back from them, although he was curious to what this meant to the man. Finally the hunter returned to the present moment again and handed the folder back to Gadreel.  
"Can you do us a favour?" the man asked him.

"Of course," Gadreel replied straight away.  
He had no other response prepared for this sort of questions: he'd do anything asked of him by any of the family living here.  
"Anything you need."

"Could you make a list of angels that you know are dead, descending order from the ones that have the most relation to you to the angels that have the least?"

"I can. May I ask you why?"

"There's a chance there's a connection to someone. It's probably not you, since you were the third resurrection, but who knows. Maybe there's something there."

"Only the names?"

"Only the names unless there's something specific you think might be related."

Gadreel nodded.  
"I understand. May I ask another question?"

"Sure. Fire."

"I thought Dean and Castiel were returning today," the angel spoke, "yet it's quite late and they have not yet come back."

Sam grimaced.  
"Don't worry about that," he replied, "they'll be home soon enough. Dean's probably detoured again. He, uh, does that a lot these days, even when he really shouldn't."

Gadreel squinted, trying to tear an explanation from the younger's expression. Sam chuckled.

"He's finally realised that the fate of the world usually doesn't depend on if he makes it back home at ten or at midnight, so he'd rather stop to eat a slice of pie and, I don't know, do other things that he enjoys to cope with the stress. I think it works better than the frantic back and forth driving we used to do. I mean, we've always done diner stops and the like but - it's more than that now. Sometimes he just stops the car and stands by a river for fifteen minutes without saying a word just because he feels like watching the flow."

"I am glad to hear that."

Sam nodded.  
"He's changed a lot since you knew him. For the better, mostly. If you want to go to bed, though, you can. I don't think we'll need you tonight."

Gadreel shook his head in turn. He ran his tongue across his lips mainly to suppress a yawn at the mention of sleep, as if his vessel had decided to react to it like it was an order, and picked up his pen again.  
"I will start on the list you wanted," he said, "I also doubt I will be of much use tonight, but it concerns me as well. This is my family, Sam; they are my brothers and sisters who are returning and in danger. I will do what I can to help them, if only I am given the chance."

Sam had a smile on him: it had strange, new fondness to it that Gadreel couldn't place or recognise from those given to him before. He got lost in it until Sam shook his head, sighing.  
"You'll have the chance," he said, "this _is_ your family we're talking about."


	7. Light Sleep

* * *

 

"One more thing," Castiel said, reaching across the table towards Gadreel who'd already almost stood up - he caught the older's sleeve and so the sentry never truly stood in full height.  
Gadreel looked at him curiously but with caution; Castiel had kept this for a final note, and at two in the morning, that stretch had to count for something. Sam yawned, but he'd stopped as well - Dean had vanished from sight, seemingly aware of what Castiel was going to say and was uninterested to stay and listen to it.  
"This is our problem, Gadreel. Not theirs."

"Cas, with all due respect -" Sam started, but the seraph cut him off with a look.  
Afterwards he turned back towards Gadreel as if he'd never been interrupted.

"I wish to ask you to accompany me. I hope you'll agree to."

Gadreel tilted his head, brows knitting down into a frown.  
"In finding these angels?" he asked for clarification.

Castiel nodded.  
"This is our family, and this is our war. Even though we now live here on earth with humans, it is still our fight and our purpose to keep them safe. It is a priority to prevent this from escalating and spreading to mankind - as long as we can, we should stay at it as angels."

"Cas, we're not stepping down from this," Sam argued from the side, gaining another disapproving look from Castiel.

"I spoke of this with Dean already," the older noted, "Of course I would not expect you to stand down and leave this to us alone. We need a small, concentrated team - you should be the backup, the home base of operations, where we gather the intelligence and where we come back to rest and if we are injured, to heal. But you should not actively partake in this mission. It is to stay with us."

The younger shifted weight from one leg to the other, looking tired and conflicted. Finally he nodded.  
"I'll get to bed. Cas, Dean's going to kill me if I don't say this so I will, but make sure Gadreel finds his."

"I will," Gadreel spoke, and both Castiel and Sam turned towards him, causing him to freeze for a moment.  
"I... will find my bed, and I will fight by your side, Castiel. It is all that I could ask for," he finally continued.

Sam chuckled, shook his head and sighed. He spun around on his heels and headed for the stairs.  
"Good night, both of you," he called before vanishing to the corridor.  
Gadreel watched where he'd disappeared for a moment before sitting back down. He turned to Castiel and adopted a serious expression, although his chest was light with excitement and relief and happiness; this was, indeed, all that he could have asked for.

"What part do you wish me to play?" he asked.

Castiel leaned closer across the table.  
"To take Dean's place at my side in this fight," he said, tilting his head and with a regretful smile on his face he continued; "He did not appreciate the plan at first, but I convinced him that it's for the best."

"I can imagine he would not like that," Gadreel agreed, barely knowing how to contain the emotion that kept growing within him, nurtured by Castiel's trust in him.  
"You'd wish me to come with you to resurrected angels and help them fight off their enemies, is that correct?"

"That is what it now looks like," Castiel confirmed, "yet if we can tune the machine to predicting the resurrections, we have a much better chance at getting there before a fight ensues - even if the advantage is to be only by a couple hours. I trust that Charlie is capable of turning this tide in our favour."

The thought had been presented earlier in the conversation, and Dean had made a call to ask the young woman if she'd be available; Charlie had confirmed she'd be up for trying to update the system, but had promised nothing.

Gadreel nodded.  
"It would be an immense help to our cause," he said slowly.  
He hesitated for a moment, turning his gaze away and wondering if what he was to say was something he was entitled to.

"Gadreel?" Castiel's voice called out to him gently.

He shook his head.  
"I look forwards to meeting her," he finally said, "I - resurrected her once, but she does not know it. I will not tell. I merely - I feel it is appropriate to introduce myself to her, perhaps tell her that we've met if Sam thinks it is wise to let her know about our past."

The younger angel nodded slowly, and Gadreel could almost tell for sure that he was smiling even though the expression was but a warmer glow upon his features.  
"I've met her a few times now," Castiel said, "She is a fine young woman, with a very bright mind."

Gadreel nodded.  
"That is what she seemed to me as well. She is - very important to the brothers."

"She is," Castiel agreed, shifting and glancing towards the corridor.  
"Perhaps we should part for the night now, unless you have something you wish to speak of in private before then."

The sentry still felt the weariness in his body and couldn't help but feel relieved at Castiel's insight to it, although it most likely had more to do with his will to be with Dean than with his concern for the older. Gadreel couldn't even tell for sure if Castiel could see beyond what was obvious, as he was doing his best to conceal his weakness for the time being.  
"I have nothing for now," he said truthfully, although he already missed the seraph's company despite still staying in it, "I will let you know if something changes."

The younger nodded, turning an examining look towards the sentry.  
"When do you think you are ready to join me on the field?" he asked then.

"Perhaps by the end of the week, brother. I am still weak, but I feel much better than I did yesterday. I seem to be recovering fast," the taller spoke calmly and honestly.  
He did feel better - the exhaustion aside, and the fact that he still felt hunger and thirst at the whim of his vessel, he was almost ready to take up his duties at the seraph's side. Perhaps he would not risk a fight yet, and at times dizziness overtook him still, but he felt that this all would pass in a couple more days and leave him as close to recovered as he was going to get in a long while, and a whole lot more so than he'd been when he'd first started fighting after the fall.

"Promise me that you are telling me only what you know to be true, Gadreel," Castiel spoke, and Gadreel noted his slip back to the formal speech that he rarely used with the brothers anymore.  
It warmed him somehow, as if it was a sign that the other was tuned to him and only him now, as Gadreel himself still couldn't and wouldn't shed the patterns he was used to in this language that was still so unfamiliar to him.  
"Not only for the sake of the mission, but for your own as well."

"I promise," Gadreel said with a smile, "I will not join you before I am ready to do so. I've been told many times not to, and while I may be stubborn and a fool, I know when to step down. I know my strength and I know when I will be ready to serve again. Not yet, but soon."

The seraph smiled in turn.  
"I am glad to hear that," he said, sighing.  
"Good night then, brother."

"To you as well," Gadreel returned the farewell and, after Castiel had done so as well, turned to leave.  
They moved on beside one another, wings brushing together on the level which they both felt more naturally and truly than the physical realm around them, and only parted when the corridors did so, each heading towards their destination alone from then on. Gadreel's steps echoed in the empty space as he moved towards the room beside Sam's; he could sense the hunter's aura nearby as he passed the door, stopping in front of his own. Then he realised he was still not trusted here, and as such, he made another turn and knocked on Sam's door.  
In less than five seconds, the man opened the door and aimed a curious look at him.

"I thought it polite to tell you that I'm going in for the night," he said, unsure how to word it.

The corner of Sam's mouth twitched and he shook his head.  
"I'm not a prison guard, Gadreel. Thanks for letting me know anyway, but - you're free, you have my trust that you will follow the rules that we set up for now. I'm not here to keep you on a leash."

The older tilted his head.  
"You'd trust me?"

"God," Sam muttered and laughed, "I trust you. Go to bed, I'll see you in the morning."

A confused smile lingered upon Gadreel's lips as he nodded, finally taking the turn back to his own room. He left the door ajar but only slightly, and through the gap he could hear clearly as Sam closed and locked his own door. He felt oddly content knowing the younger was safe in there, although of course there was no danger in his own home - Gadreel, if anyone, knew how difficult it was to breach the security of this place. He was doubtful that anyone who was not taught to do it by observation and repetition could enter without triggering at least one of the alarms or getting caught by the protective spells and sigils now that the bunker's residents had settled in permanently and kept it all up to date and activated. As a strange follow-up to the confidence he felt at Sam's safety, he suddenly became aware of his own: this was his home, too, and therefore he was as safe here as the younger was. There was no need for him to keep his guard up like he'd done until now: here he could lower it, if only by a little, to rest his mind as well as his body.  
A small sigh left his lips as he settled on the bed, wondering if he should heed to some ritual or routine here before settling to rest. While still thinking, he reached down for his socks and removed them; next, although a little hesitantly, he removed his shirt and placed both these things upon a chair across the room. While still standing, he unbuckled the belt of his jeans, undid it and the button and the zipper the same, and shed them, folded them and dropped them next to the rest on the chair. Cool air pressed against his skin and he was for a moment lost in that sensation, as it was still strange to be exposed in this way, yet it felt good to make himself ready for rest like he'd so many times experienced Sam preparing himself. He spun around on his heels and returned to the bed, threw aside the blanket and settled in, bringing the blanket up to his chest and letting his hands dive underneath it once he was ready. He didn't know where to place them once they were there - which position was comfortable or natural to stay in; resting with all limbs straight felt stiff and unfamiliar to his body, so he lifted his hands to rest upon his stomach instead and pressed one knee slightly over the other to create a less rigid pose for himself. His eyes tracked the ceiling and he listened to the vessel's heart beating in the room where he hadn't turned on the lights upon entering: just enough light still came from the corridor in that he could see fine with just the physical vision granted to him, although he knew that in some seconds now the lights would turn off automatically. In a moment's time they did just that, as no one was there to press the switch again and just the same no one had set the timer off - the angel assumed it had to do with conserving energy, wherever it came from, but by now he was used to the phenomenom. He'd grown accustomed to it when he'd lived here with the brothers before, even though thinking back to that time caused him to feel ashamed and uneasy now for reasons he couldn't quite pin down; knowing the damage he'd caused painted the whole period in his mind with the things that he would have rather forgotten and buried somewhere deep beneath, yet if nothing else then Sam's orders for him to speak of them kept them in the front of his mind at all times. He'd learned much from his mistakes but it wasn't enough and he wouldn't allow himself the luxury of forgetting before he'd at least learned to live with what he'd done. Sam had ordered him to do that, so he would try.

Absently his fingertips had slid down his body again, mapping the feel of his hip bone just above the collar of his underwear. The shapes of flesh still felt unfamiliar to him but the shame he'd felt earlier over exploring them had passed, as no lightning had struck him down and nobody had judged him for it. He closed his eyes and let it happen again - wherever he could touch, he touched, allowing his grace to adjust to the feel of his body, reminding himself over and over that it was his now, his to live in, his to use, his to experience and his to touch and to feel. The more familiar he grew with the texture of his skin and the patterns of hair upon it, the creases and the curves and the marks that made it so alive, the more content and relaxed he felt and the easier it was for him to tune into what the flesh was experiencing. His palm slid down his stomach just to feel the comforting feeling of it again, then rose to his chest and pressed over his heart; he opened his eyes again and traced a finger across his lips, his chin and his jaw until he felt his ear and pushed past it over the neck. The collarbones stuck out as hard bumps just underneath the skin, and firm muscle followed suit; the sides of his arms and the crooks of them were soft and warm to his cool fingertips. His nails felt smooth and firm to touch, the skin over his palms soft; he bent his fingers to feel the knuckles become prominent against the skin and then sink underneath a firm joint again as he straightened his fingers.  
A small smile spread onto his lips and he sighed contently, calmly. Having a body wasn't so strange after all. It was like an extension of his grace, something that was surprisingly easy to become one with, and he allowed the difference between himself and the flesh to become as insignificant as he could by lowering and undoing the wall that usually separated him from it. He'd built such strong defenses to keep himself away from these experiences, first out of the discomfort he'd felt at becoming a part of the physical realm and then because being anything else would have invaded Sam's privacy in a way he perhaps ironically did not wish to do; later, it had simply become the norm for him, to keep himself apart from what he was borrowing for necessity. He'd never allowed it to slip his mind that this flesh was not his and even if he'd gained the permission to do with it what he had to, he'd always to the last moment kept it his priority to remember that he was not the one who owned it, he was only a guest by invitation. The man whose flesh this had been had been more than kind to him, offering him if not trust then willful submission like nothing he'd ever dared to expect of him, and at his very last moment he'd still held onto Gadreel like a soldier in battle reminding the one beside him that they were to die together, that the end would be for them both and that was the way he'd wanted it to be. Gadreel had felt guilt for it, even when his mind had been clouded by fear and desperation; it hadn't been necessary, yet it had been just that. There'd been no other choice for him, no place to run to anymore, but he'd apologized when he'd made that choice, and when he'd lifted his face towards the unknown and thrust the weapon through his grace, he'd apologized again, and for once, he'd been forgiven.

He wondered what that man's heaven was like: what kind of a place was his paradise, his peace, for if there was one that deserved the place it was him. Gadreel didn't know and he wondered if he ever would - the thought of finding him just to apologise once more was tempting but ultimately useless, and it was likely that he'd do the man a bigger service by never showing up again. For now, that was how it would be, but knowing that he was at peace was what gave Gadreel some solace even from his own blame. That was what he'd wanted: quiet and peace. Those had been his terms, and that was what he had to himself now, it had to be. He'd served the angel with everything he'd had just like he'd served his commands before and if there was a chance that Gadreel had given him at least a safe place from the nightmares and the day time's terror, perhaps it all hadn't been for nothing.

A more discontent sigh crossed Gadreel's lips and he turned to his side, arm wrapping around his body and shifting to rest by his hip while the other's fist pressed against his mouth in the dark. He glanced around himself to make sure that he was still safe, as if something could have changed while he was still lost in thought, before he finally could close his eyes again.  
This body was a gift to him; a chance to never need to take another's life like he'd done before. Perhaps not a chance to avoid taking lives altogether, as it seemed his purpose now as it had been before to draw blood from his enemies and those he perceived as such, and there was not always a way to spare an innocent's life when it came to whom he would be fighting next - but at least he had the choice to not ask for everything from someone who'd be the one paying the ultimate price for that sacrifice and kindness.

From the next room he could hear the sound of Sam settling to bed for the night and he prayed to the absent God that this night would treat the younger better than the one that had come before.

 

* * *

 

Sam could feel it within him again; something moving, something not him swirling inside him. His fingers gripped the blanket and he tried to draw breath but he'd forgotten how to - he was halfway up and halfway through the room by the time he could gasp the inhale that had almost been left undrawn. His palm was against the floor and his eyes stared wildly around him, place by place he aimed a panicked gaze to the walls of his dark room, struggling to understand where he was until he found the bookcase and could somehow find his way up to the light switch. In the glow of the lamp turned on in the middle of the room he still felt like vomiting, and he doubled over just in case it would happen; the floor was easier to clean than his body and clothes.  
His hair swung back and forth in front of his eyes and seemed to blur as it moved, right and left and sticking to his wet forehead, and he swallowed and closed his eyes to try and calm down although he couldn't get rid of the feeling that had taken control of him. It was there, somewhere in his core he could feel something else, and he wanted to claw it out and he wanted to drink bleach to burn it, but his conscious mind told him to calm down and ignore it like he'd done for so long. If he ignored it for long enough, sometimes it left him: sometimes he could spend weeks without feeling as if he was possessed against his knowledge. He'd allowed it to take over last night, so it was only natural the same feeling would get to him today. Castiel wasn't a medicine that worked without a course, but rather visiting him once was a relief like a painkiller when this had already escalated beyond Sam's control; the only way for him to truly get in control of the sensation itself was simply to tell it to go away and then keep it out. As always with things like these, it was much easier said than done.  
His mind kept returning to it, always and at all times. He could have been enjoying his book and suddenly become horribly aware of not being alone, of carrying something else inside him, of not being in control. And he could only tell it to go away again and refuse to think about it, read from his book out loud and force himself to imagine vividly the sceneries laid out for him in words to occupy his mind to a point where the feeling couldn't return again, but it always had a foot between the door. It never really left until a long while after when he forgot to think of it, whether it was for a case or because he was so lost in babysitting Gadreel that he couldn't afford to fall into his own private nightmares that, ironically, still had everything to do with the angel. Yet Sam didn't blame him for these - he might have been the cause, but he hadn't broken Sam's brain. He hadn't put his finger up to Sam's forehead and released these nightmares like Castiel had done a long time ago; he'd always put in a great effort to keep Sam from having to remember, from having to deal with it all. It was Sam's fault that he couldn't leave it alone, and he'd dug and he'd dug and he'd explored until he'd remembered, until he'd known exactly how he should have known the whole time and how he, in truth, had known but had chosen not to act on the matter. How he, like now, had kept telling himself there was nothing wrong with him. That everything was alright. That he was alone, even when he hadn't been, and who knew? Perhaps it was the same thing again. Perhaps it was something that even Castiel couldn't find.

Sam gagged again, but dared to stand up straight afterwards. In the humming silence of the air conditioning pushing in fresh breezes into the otherwise still air in his room and replacing it with unused oxygen he breathed in and out, half-turned towards the door and half-decisive to go back to bed. A shudder ran through him at the thought of it and anxiety gripped his chest so firmly that he soon abandoned the illusion of being strong enough to do that. With a weariness in his whole being he turned to leave the room; a glance in the clock of his phone before then told him it was four in the morning, and Castiel would undoubtedly be in Dean's room. It meant waking Dean up, too, and there was a certain limit as to how many times he could stir the man's curiosity before he'd grow too worried to refrain from asking. The whole plan seemed terrible, and as such, when Sam finally opened his door, he realised he'd rather try to calm down through some usual methods of slowly drinking some water or preparing peppermint tea if Charlie's stacks were still usable, and by sitting down to read a book. The problem was that this method took a long while and he would likely still be there when the rest would wake up - the thought of pulling a whole day this tired didn't appeal much to him.

"Sam," a voice called for him from behind him just after he'd taken the first step, causing him to jolt and turn around ready to kill.  
It took him a moment to realise there was a reason why he'd thought back to babysitting Gadreel: the angel stood at the doorway looking worried and somewhat sad like a scolded puppy, something that really didn't fit him but made for a strangely convincing act regardless.  
"Can I help?" he asked, although Sam could see he'd taken a step back already from the way Sam had reacted to him.

He had an unusually good ability to read people for an angel who hadn't spent much time on earth and Sam wondered how much exactly he'd had to do with people before in Eden: after all, he'd been one of the very few who'd had the chance before God had left.

"No. I'm sorry. You can't," the hunter heard himself say.  
The angel nodded sadly and turned away; Sam followed suit and walked on a few steps with his heart trapped in his head, pounding away at his eardrums.  
Then, as suddenly as he'd turned earlier, he spun around on his heels and walked back.  
"Yes, you can."

He watched Gadreel turn half-way through the distance back to his bed, a kind of a hopeful, eager look on him now.  
"Anything," the male spoke, settling to stand facing Sam.

"I'll come back in a minute with some tea, so... maybe you could sit with me for a bit."  
After all - it was unlikely, but Gadreel's company seemed to somehow ease Sam's mind, as if the fact that he was outside of him meant that some dark, half-Lucifer version of him wasn't lurking within the hunter's body still.  
The angel nodded again.

"Of course. I will wait."

He looked fresh from sleep, hair standing up and with a pale complexion instead of the usual tanned tone. As Sam watched, he did settle to wait, sitting on his bed but keeping his eyes on Sam at all times. The younger nodded in turn.  
"Sorry for waking you up," he said instinctively.

Gadreel shook his head.  
"No need to apologise. I have trouble sleeping as well, it seems the issue did not only trouble me for the first night."


	8. Better Times

* * *

 

There wasn't any space for them to sit in the angel's room, so Sam invited Gadreel to his own instead. The older followed carefully but felt surprisingly comfortable being back in the room that had been almost like his own for those months he'd spent healing Sam, and although Sam similarly seemed a little unconfident at first, he soon relaxed once they were seated within an acceptable distance from each other on the couch. To drown out the initial silent, the hunter turned on the television, landing them in the middle of a movie they both pretended interest in to avoid looking directly at one another.

"I kind of want to get this out of my system," Sam spoke after a while, eyes still upon the TV screen.

Gadreel looked at him and waited, nervous but ready for whatever would come; he'd woken up to the sounds Sam had made in his sleep again and he'd hoped too hard to be right where he was now to feel truly unwilling to go through the conversation he was almost certain would follow these words. Sam glanced at him as if to make sure he was listening, or that he didn't outright seem opposed to the conversation; Gadreel wondered how he could remain so thoughtful, as if he'd been prepared to change the subject if the older hadn't felt up to it. It shouldn't have been that way.

"Go ahead," the angel spoke to encourage him, just in case it mattered.

Sam nodded, returning to the TV and sipping his tea that smelled strongly of peppermint, milk and honey.  
"I try to be on your side," the hunter spoke, "I try, I really do, and I'm working at putting the past behind us. But it's not always so easy. I want you to know that even though I've forgiven you, it doesn't mean that I've - forgotten."

"I would not expect you to."  
Gadreel swallowed, looking down at his knees and hoping that he, too, had something to drink; sitting there like the angel that he was seemed inappropriate now, like his species was the weapon with which he'd caused pain to the younger, and he would have wished to disguise himself as something that wasn't so alien to Sam, something that didn't outright seem different and inhuman and dangerous. For that moment, he almost wished he'd been weaker still, but rest had yet further allowed him to recover and he could nearly already believe himself to be ready to take up Castiel's offer - not quite, but almost. That same fact meant that he'd distanced himself from the human experience so far that they were now truly different with the man who sat next to him, and although Gadreel still felt more connected to his body than before, he couldn't exist within it like the man next to him was bound to his own, which Gadreel had unintendingly, carelessly violated. As such, he'd lost the edge he'd had over this: he'd never been a body. He didn't know what it truly meant for Sam to live through what he'd forced him to.  
"I'm surprised that you even want to," he added quietly.

"I guess everyone was. I'm going to be honest with you now, and I hope you know what that means, and how much it matters to me that I can trust you. Okay?"

Gadreel nodded.  
"Alright."

"I do," Sam started, "trust you. That's a problem, because I really, really shouldn't. You left me different than what I was before you healed me. I could tell what I wanted and what I didn't for the most part. I knew I was the one in control of myself and my actions, even if I made bad choices they were all on me, and I knew why I'd made them. You messed all that up. On one hand, you violated me in a - I don't know if there's a word for it. That broke me. It broke me, somehow. But what made it so much worse was that your intentions... I could feel you, all that time I could feel you and what you felt and I understood you on a level that I can't anymore, and have and never will feel with anyone else. So I can't hate you because you never meant to hurt me, and I know that you were scared. I wanted to hate you and I almost believed I did until I saw you after Dean had tortured you, and it just wasn't what I needed or what I wanted. And I just - afterwards, I've never really been sure how to feel right. What you did to me was horrible, but I don't feel like it was, so I can't respond to it like I should and because I can't, I feel like I can't heal."

He waited for a moment, perhaps to gather his thoughts, but Gadreel was glad he was given the time to adjust to what he'd already spoken. When Sam did continue, he did so with a small, crooked smile.

"The worst is that nobody really gets it, or gets me. Why I can't want to kill you or hurt you when I really should be the one leading that crusade. And I guess after all these years Dean feels like he just needs to bow to what I feel because his way didn't work and hurting you gained nothing and you still did what you promised in the end. You're like, on this weird not-friendly level of getting along and Dean's probably okay with that by now. But he's not okay with me, because he doesn't understand me. None of this has anything to do with why I keep waking up in the night, not really, but I just - I want you to know that if I seem like I'm your friend, it's because you forced yourself to me in a way that I can't undo. I can't rub you out of my skin and I can't hate you because I was you the same way that you were me. I'm not sure if I know the difference anymore: I hate you like I hate myself, and I l-"

The younger swallowed thickly, bringing his tea back to his lips and drowning the visible discomfort into a long gulp. He glanced at Gadreel again and seemed shaken by something, but the older didn't know what he was going through and couldn't say for certain what the look held behind it.  
Finally Sam seemed to get over it with a shiver and a cough, and he aimed his gaze back at the TV in an attempt to disengage from the conversation, bring back into it the distance he felt safe at. His words hurt like open wounds within Gadreel and he wished he could have clutched something, held something against the pain to numb it down, but he had nothing but his hands and no place to shield from damage.

"But I am," the angel spoke in a faltering voice when Sam didn't seem to find the words to continue, "the reason you wake up in the night."

Slowly, the younger nodded.  
"I don't feel like myself anymore. I haven't for a long time. I feel like - I always fear that I'm sharing again. That I'm shared. I'm not my own. I can't patch up that hole and sometimes it just... it feels like a part of me died and there's scarring or gangrene inside me somewhere. It's not me anymore, but it's still there, and no matter what I do - how I - how I try to take it out, I can't. And I feel it, all the time."

"I'm sorry."

Sam nodded again.  
"I know."  
He had tears in his eyes when he turned to look at the angel but he smiled, bravely, genuinely.  
"I trust that, too. I just want this to be clear - maybe being honest will heal me. I don't want this to - I don't want this to haunt you any more than I want it to haunt me, but I can't just bury it either. It's something that is in there and something that's between us and it's something that neither of us can undo. I don't want - I'm not saying this to hurt you, or to tell you that you're alone, I just don't know how else to even try to give us both a second chance, so I just... I just want to know that you know."

"I do now."  
There was another silence between them, full of a meaningless conversation between characters on the screen but their words and their fictional problems, their made-up world, was welcome as a bandage over the deep cuts that Sam had opened within them both.

"You welcome me here. I cannot understand why," Gadreel finally continued.

Sam looked at him and shook his head, smiling again although the previous one had broken down as he'd spoken.  
"I was glad to see you alive. Who knows why? I know I don't. Maybe it's just the chance to talk this out, maybe it's something else, but I don't think we'll ever figure it out. I don't think there's a good answer. So, Cas... invited you in, didn't he?"

The topic shifted and Gadreel could have sighed out of relief at the fact. He nodded.  
"He did. I am to join him when I am strong enough to fight. It might be sooner than I thought. I feel good tonight, even if I did not sleep very well."

"Just be careful when you go."

"I am skilled in combat. I assure you I will have no trouble fighting demons."

Sam huffed contently.  
"I guess that's true," he said then.

"There is something I wished to ask you," Gadreel noted afterwards.

"Shoot."

"How much does Charlie know of me?" he asked, afraid the subject would draw them back to the earlier conversation but Sam's shrug seemed lighthearted enough to indicate otherwise.

"Nothing," the younger said, "we never really explained to her anything beyond, well, the basics. She probably still thinks you're an enemy, so it's probably going to, you know, surprise her to see you here with us. Not so much because you're supposed to be dead, as she probably just expects that and nobody ever explicitly told her that you were - but just because, you know, the last time she heard of you you were the reason Kevin's... and that's about it."

"I feel like this might not be a very pleasant introduction," Gadreel said and was surprised to hear the sigh that followed his own words.

"I feel like it might do you some good to face up with it anyway," Sam chuckled, shrugging, "She'll catch up pretty quick and she won't give you a very hard time, she knows that if we've figured it out she can only either agree with it or tell us that she doesn't but either way you're here and there are reasons for it. She might not stay for long anyway, she's got a girl back in San Francisco these days, so - yeah."

"You asked me to work through my burdens so that I could think of myself as equal to you," Gadreel continued, "but I do not see how I could ever pay back my crimes."

"Didn't that 'eternity of torture' phase pretty much punish you enough? How about your session with Dean, or the time he nearly gutted you? What of you drowning on your own sword? I'm not expecting you to make up for anything anymore, Gadreel. When I told you I just want you to work it out with yourself I really meant it. Meanwhile, I'm going to be working out my own issues with you, but I keep repeating it and I'll do it once more that it's not because I feel you haven't paid enough. I just need to get them out, I need to know that I've said them, I need to know where we stand so that we can, I don't know, stand there together."

"So, honesty is the key."

"It's the key. It's the rule we try to live by. It's - I still don't know how to always do it myself, but I try, man. I try," Sam said and sighed.  
He leaned back on his side of the couch and aimed a long, locked-away look at the sentry before smiling again and shaking his head.  
"I wish we'd met different," he continued, "but on the other hand, I guess this is something that we should work with. The whole knowing each other in a different way than anyone else does. And, furthermore, I think you should accept it - that I know you, because I'm trying hard to live with the fact that you know me. You've seen everything and I wish I was exaggerating, but the same way, I lived with you those six months. I knew you when you were at your weakest, so... that's something I think gives us an edge. I just wish I knew for what."

Gadreel felt a small smile on his lips. It felt strange to hear the other say these things and he couldn't look back at Sam, but he was right; Sam, especially if he'd forced himself to open those memories he had of the time they'd existed as one, would know everything he'd been through those months. He'd know not only Gadreel's intentions but his fears and his weaknesses and his confident moments just the same, and in that way, he would truly know which factors had driven his choices - perhaps there wasn't a reason to keep apologising. Perhaps Sam could truly mean it when he said that he knew.

"Perhaps we will find out eventually," the angel spoke.

"Maybe, yeah."

 

* * *

 

Sam's fear toned down as the night turned to morning, but neither he nor Gadreel ever went back to bed before his alarm went off. They headed downstairs together and had coffees with Castiel, who'd gotten up only to greet the hunter and after the cup that he hadn't necessarily needed returned to watch over Dean. Sam left the sentry on his own in the study to work on the list he'd requested, and instead of being responsible and standing there as if he still needed someone to make sure he was only up to good things, the hunter headed for the stairs and into the brisk December morning for a walk.  
The snow was melting - it didn't surprise Sam but it did disappoint him, and his shoes grew wet as he made his round around the fields that were slowly returning to their brown, muddy winter states from below the layer of white. He threw the winter's first snowball at a tree just to celebrate finding enough to make a ball out of before turning back towards the bunker. From somewhere not so far away, the scent of baked goods wafted to him, and he cast a look towards the two-story colonial-style building sitting alone in the center of a still-white garden, a house he'd seen an old couple exit out of and assumed belonged to them. He wondered how they would like it if a stranger like him would pop up at their porch and ask for pastries, and with a smile on his face he continued past and finally met up with the bunker's front door. When he descended the stairs, Dean walked up to him with a cup of fresh-smelling coffee and a toast with eggs.

"I thought he stabbed you and ditched your corpse outdoors," the older greeted him.

Sam rolled his eyes.  
"I assume you stabbed him in revenge before finding out that he didn't?" he asked with a sigh, hopping down the last step.

"Yup."  
Dean turned, motioning him to follow.  
"I left you some toast if you want."

"Thanks, man."

"He's working on some paper."

"I know. I kind of told him to."

"Kind of?"

"Like, full-on told him to."

"What's it about?"  
Dean threw himself on a chair and unfolded the newspaper - Sam had no idea how he'd come in possession of one, but it didn't matter enough to prompt an inquiry.

"I told him to list all the angels that are potentially going to crawl out of their graves soon, see if there's any consistency."

"Cas went to meet up with someone," Dean continued, eyes turning to the front page, "Said he may have the identities of the angels who were resurrected earlier. Maybe. Told me to not hope for too much, so that's a great lead right there."

"Well," Sam shrugged, "fingers crossed, anyway. Tell me if you find a case."

"Mm-mm."

The younger passed his brother and headed for the kitchen to claim his promised breakfast: coffee alone did a good job at burning his stomach and if he was completely honest with himself, he was hungry by then already. Once the two slightly cooled-down toasts were loaded with two eggs and set upon a plate, Sam made a full turn and returned to Dean.

"Nothing today," the older noted when he reached the table.

Sam nodded, partially relieved and partially not - the thought of keeping the bunker crowded meant extra tension, but on the other hand he got to stick with his family and Castiel's presence would mean that he'd have to look after Gadreel less.

"There's - one thing Cas threw at me last night," Dean continued after a moment and half of Sam's first toast had passed.  
He eyed the younger carefully and Sam returned the gaze with curiosity.  
"He's probably gonna talk about it when he comes back but I don't think you'll like it much, so I can start. I don't know what to think about it so don't shoot the messenger, okay?"

"Okay."

"Right," Dean sighed and pulled back, rubbing at his neck in an uneasy manner, "So with these angels. It looks like the two that happened before Gadreel are either dead or gone rogue, and neither's good if no one's checking it out. Cas was balling this idea that - when we find someone, alive, and they won't or can't go back to Heaven straight away, say, someone like Gadreel, we should give them a choice."

Sam lifted his brows, already expecting a lot of things that he didn't particularly like. Dean grimaced at him and folded the paper in front of him.

"Either they go off on their own and report back in some time so that someone can keep tabs on them, you know, prevent total anarchy on earth but give them the choice and so on - or they come here to recover while Cas sets something up for them. And he's got a point, I mean; I don't think a lot of the angels wanna just head out in the dark and if they can't go back home, where the hell will they go?"

"You're right," Sam grunted, "I don't like that idea. At all."

"That's exactly what I told him. I mean, we're not a nursery."

"No, we really aren't."

"This is our home."

"Yeah."

After Sam's agreement came a brief silence that ended and renewed with his heavy sigh. He leaned back and rubbed at his eyes and his forehead and tried to will away the headache before biting into his second toast and just giving in to it.  
"He does have a point," he finally said then, as unwilling as he was.  
"I guess it depends on how long - if everyone's about as fast as Gadreel has been about getting back in action, it can't be that bad. I just really, really don't like the idea of a bunch of random angels knowing about the bunker, how to access it and how to navigate it."

"Yeah, Cas was talking about that, too. He said there might be a way to get them in blindfolded, so to speak, and if we restrict them to certain given areas with sigils, it's -"

"Yeah," Sam muttered, "Yeah, I guess. The idea still sucks, though."

"It does."  
Dean chuckled, shaking his head.  
"Especially because we already have one of them walking around off leash, even though out of maybe all the angels this one's the one I'd like to put back in jail."

"Dean -"

"No, no, it's totally your call. We've been through this before. It's just - ironic."

Sam nodded slowly. He finished his toast and grabbed the newspaper, sliding it up to himself and intending to disappear within its pages for the next thirty minutes, but a thought bugged him out of that intention and he sighed heavily again.  
"Dude," he started, "I miss Kevin, too."

Dean glanced at him, suddenly wary.  
"Yeah?"

"Yeah. It's just that - it's something we can't change. He can't, either. He wants to, but he can't."

"Why'd you think so? That he wants, I mean."

"I was there, Dean. On the other side of that. God, we've talked about this. I remember. I know things about him that change everything for me and I can't just endlessly hold that over him when I know what put him to that place and how much it damaged him. He was basically dead inside when he finally broke out of there and fought for us and, you know, when you decided to do things your w-"

"The Mark's way, Sam! I wasn't myself," Dean cut him off with a snarl, "It's hilarious how you can hold that over me even after all these years and forgive Gadreel instead. It's like I'm somehow more responsible over a curse than he's over his own free will. God, you make me wish I could just punch you sometimes, I'm not here to listen to how I had a choice over that."

Sam cringed. His fingertips felt cold and his throat was closing and he felt nauseous as he shook his head.  
"That's... not what I meant, Dean. I'm sorry. I crossed a line."

The older let out a scoff and looked away, but Sam couldn't help but notice the tears in his eyes that he was busy trying to hold back.

"I'm sorry, man."

Dean nodded. He wiped the glistering wetness from his eyes as if angry at himself for letting his weakness show and cleared his throat in an attempt to make a difference between this moment and the one that had barely passed.  
"Me too," he finally said and glanced at Sam again, this time in a more submissive, hurt manner.

"Yeah. I don't - intend to take his side, it just happens because no one else will."

"It's funny, though. It's like it's personal to you."

"It kind of is, I guess," Sam sighed and shrugged.  
"It's complicated."

"Yeah, I figured out that much four years ago. I feel like crap, Sam, I still do. You know I didn't have a choice."

The younger nodded.  
"I know you didn't have a choice," he repeated, "and I know you feel like crap about it. I've already - have I? If I haven't, here it comes. I'm over it. I forgive you. I know why you did what you did, too. I just wish you'd give your partner in crime some slack over what happened. It wasn't easy for him either."

"And you?" Dean asked.

"What about me?" Sam asked in turn, genuinely confused and oddly defensive about it.

"Just that you give so much thought to what we feel about the things we got wrong, but it's like you don't come into the equation. What we did hurt you, and - it did worse than just that, I get it. Even though I had no other choice it was a choice I shouldn't have made, I don't know, it wasn't my place. And you got screwed over and Kev got screwed over and it's - it's just easier for me to hate Gadreel because if I don't, I end up hating myself again, because I know that in the end all that crap is on me."

"It's not, Dean. You couldn't have known."

"I should have known. That's the problem. I trusted a stranger with not only your life but everyone else's, too. And I shouldn't have. And once I had, I should have... I should have at least tried to make it work, yet I - I couldn't trust him in the end, not like I needed to. And it ended bad and it's all my fault that it did; I know that, and it doesn't help that you decide to just take his side and leave me with this shit. The hell do I do with it, Sam?"

"Dean."  
Sam hadn't noticed he'd gotten up before he was leaning across the table to get closer to the older; his eyes stared right into the green of Dean's and he felt weird for a moment, like there had been another cut between now and a moment ago, a blackout during which he hadn't been present. His skin crawled and he tried to look for any indication of it having happened from Dean's expression and reaction but he found nothing, not even so much as a change in his submissive stance from before. It calmed him down a little, but the adrenaline within his bloodstream remained and he still had to catch up with his thoughts before carrying on.  
"It's past. What matters is today. I live because of you and him and Kevin doesn't but only one of those things you chose. And yeah, Kevin's blood is on Gadreel's hands and that's something no one here can undo. The only thing I know for certain is that it's not on you, Dean, and Gadreel's paid for it in every way that he could. He _died_ , and if that isn't punishment enough - he didn't exactly choose to be back. I don't know if he even wants that. I know neither of us wanted to be back when it happened to us. I know how that feels like, so maybe I sympathise with it, maybe I'm just trying to make sense of this, but the only choice we have, the only thing that makes the slightest bit of sense today, is to just be content with what we did with what we got. It's over. Today's different. We can make it different and the thing we need right now is to trust what we have, because out there, something weird's happening and we need to be fit to fight it. Alright?"

Dean hesitated for a while, his expression pained and locked, before a grimace broke through and he stood up from his chair.  
"I'm gonna just - get back in the kitchen, I guess."  
It wasn't him opting out of the conversation; it was him giving it the benefit of doubt instead of shooting it down without considering it through on better time first.

Sam slipped back into his chair and nodded exhaustedly.  
"Go," he huffed with half a smile, "I'll come get you when Cas comes back if he doesn't call you first."

"Right."


	9. Full of Holes

* * *

 

Castiel returned with a single name: Miriam. She'd been the first, placing her resurrection at the precise minute Sam had logged the alarm in the logbook, but she wasn't on Gadreel's list. Castiel knew her better: she'd worked alongside him after Heaven had been reclaimed from Metatron's rule, only to fall victim to a high-ranking demon during one of the bigger clashes. The other angel's name remained a mystery to them, but Sam accepted Gadreel's list with a smile and genuine gratitude, and it was more than enough reward for the work the angel had put into it for all Gadreel was concerned.  
After Castiel's inquiry to Gadreel's health and condition, they settled to make a move on the morrow - Miriam would hardly be a target hostile to them, so Castiel wanted to interview her, and Dean backed him up. Sam agreed to the plan, although only after ensuring that Miriam knew Gadreel's story and would not react negatively to the sentry's presence, but Castiel put his mind at ease about it, simultaneously settling a certain nervousness from within Gadreel as well.

They ate together; Dean had prepared a full meal and Sam noted gratefully the fact that the salad didn't appear like it was thrown there just because it had to exist for his sake, and his brother seemed satisfied with the fact that even Castiel had decided to fill up a plate despite not requiring or particularly caring for the experience. It was strange for Gadreel to be a part of that: it made him feel included although he still couldn't quite trust that feeling. He hadn't yet lost his appetite, either, and the food was delicious - he found his newly acquired talent at tuning with his body to be of great help, as he through that felt the texture and taste of what he ate much stronger than before. The taste seemed to become firmer, something solid instead of a constant flow of separate information marking down the different parts of what it consisted of, and he wondered if this was close to how the humans experienced each meal - as something full and enjoyable, rather than something that was necessary. Considering the culture surrounding eating, it was likely that he'd managed to gain a glimpse to the origins of it, and he hoped that he'd still be able to return there later once he was fully healed.

After eating the group scattered again: Castiel left the bunker entirely to meet with his other contacts who were still hunting down the source of the second resurrection, Dean slipped off to nap, and Sam headed off to his bedroom just the same, resurfacing a while after with his arms full of laundry.  
Gadreel moved back to the study and continued organizing the Enochian files; he brought with him some tape and a marker to properly label everything in English to help the humans to navigate the section. Midway through the remaining work he was joined by Sam, who started doing the labeling on his own as Gadreel moved the newly organized folders into their proper places in the shelves. They kept at it for an hour and a half before the hunter finally called an end to it, perhaps prompted by the third yawn that paused his work.  
It was a surprise for Gadreel; Sam had never been required to do this work in the first place, and he'd assumed the other could simply leave when he felt like it, yet now he'd been told to lay down his own work as well. He watched the younger with a questioning expression and realised that there was something new about the way Sam sat there with him - it seemed to relate to the softer, less reserved smile he had on him, but Gadreel couldn't read much into that change.

"If you wanna keep going, you're welcome to," Sam corrected himself with a chuckle, "I was just thinking that if you're in for it, I feel like watching a movie. Since Cas is out and Dean's doing God knows what in his room that I don't want to go and interrupt... I thought maybe you'd join me. You don't have to, I don't even know if you like movies, it's just - it's better when it's done together."

Gadreel couldn't help the squint; his lips parted as he looked for the right way to pose his question, yet his skin seemed to tingle with excitement and he felt his heart flutter in its chamber out of sheer happiness at being asked to do this.  
"You wish for my company?" he asked, although it should have been clear enough.

"As I said, you don't have to."

"Of course, but -"

"But why, right?" Sam filled in, shrugging.  
"I don't know. I guess I've already said everything. I want to make this work, I want to get to know you, I wanna have an idea what I'm in for. And I just - last night, I thought we got along pretty well, so maybe that's something you want to build on, too."

Slowly the older nodded.  
"Of course," he repeated, "That would make me happy."

 

* * *

 

It had started as slight crawling at the back of Sam's neck. He'd felt it there the whole time, but the more others pushed him about it, the clearer he felt it. He tried to ignore it - the strange longing that mixed with the claustrophobic feeling of lacking space in his own body, the paradoxical longing for connection that defied natural laws as he still suffered the after-effects of having it. But there was something that felt like waking up from a long, long nightmare in laughing with Gadreel; the angel's smile felt like something Sam had needed, like something he'd lost, although he couldn't remember ever having it before.  
He dug at his memories trying to find a connection for these strange experiences and slowly came to realise that they had their roots firmly in the first months after Gadreel had possessed him; it was the only possible timeframe when he could have shared true feelings of happiness and contentness with the other. He remembered, suddenly after never recalling those things before but clearly and vividly like he'd experienced them yesterday, the uncalled for satisfaction in everything in those months that he'd felt. His life had been the same mess that it had been for almost its whole span to date, but he'd felt inexplicably happy about it, like Dean and the bunker and that mess was freedom that he'd never experienced before, something utterly new, something comforting and safe.

Sam had no idea what to feel about this discovery or the knowledge that he couldn't even trust his own feelings from that period of time, which seemed like just another nail in the coffin of his mental health today, but on the other hand he wondered how Gadreel had to feel now if he'd felt all that back when things had not been all too good for any of them. He was truly safe now, and as far as Sam knew he had no secrets to keep either; he was amongst allies, he had a friend in his brother and Sam was slowly beginning to feel like he might have had a friend in him too. This was all truly his life now, and he'd done much less falling than before to land in it; it had to feel like a gift that he'd not deserved and suddenly Sam realised that this acknowledgement would help him a long way in understanding the male's hesitation at accepting it at face value. He'd never experienced this before, and after all that guilt he still carried within him, it had to feel suspicious to be granted it all at once like a reward for all his fatal mistakes. This all explained the shy glances he threw at Sam every now and then as if looking for approval for his enjoyment of the movie, of the company - how he seemed to need and desire validation for every breath he took to assure himself that he'd done it right this time. Beneath all that still remained the angel that had singlehandedly slain tens of his sisters and brothers and who'd Sam had fought against inside his own mind yet somehow won over when all those angels couldn't have - he still remembered the immense, seemingly boundless strength that he'd felt all that time hidden within Gadreel, and the hesitation to use it that had defined Gadreel's submission and defeat. He remembered feeling that strength like an ocean of electricity just beneath the surface, aching to be released, but it seemed strange now to think of it when the male next to him seemed so... innocent, as if a different person from the soldier with his back to a wall. There was gentleness in that, too, something Sam definitely remembered from the possession: it seemed to be the other's aura, that aside the constant desire for action and the restlessness at lacking purpose in this moment, caring and empathy appeared to be the two things that defined Gadreel.  
Sam wondered if anyone else could feel this, or if it was some weird lingering side-effect of the possession - or if it was all in his head, if it was some kind of a twisted attempt for his own mind to convince himself that he'd been safe all along, that no harm had come to him and that no harm would come to him now. Dean would have questioned whether it was a weapon in disguise, but Sam didn't believe it to be intentional misdirection. He knew Gadreel to be a lot of things, but his manipulation techniques were crude and lacked the sophistication a trick like that would have demanded in long-term execution. Besides, if he hadn't used it to his advantage before, he wouldn't now; the only time he had, when he truly had, was the time that he'd come to apologise and he'd known to speak it to Sam directly. And even that could have been nothing but genuine remorse for what was between them - by what Sam knew now, it seemed the likely conclusion.

He wanted to allow himself to trust Gadreel. His whole being seemed to ache for that permission, to just let go of the doubt associated with what was coming to him so naturally, but he didn't know how he could let himself do it. There were so many ifs and buts along the way that he simply couldn't overcome that easily - things that stood strong whenever he got an urge to move past them, things that couldn't be broken through. He wondered where he was even heading and, most of all, why his determination to get there only seemed to grow day by day, but the truth was that he felt good here, understood and accepted and respected, and all those things were things that he needed to feel - things that sated that intense loneliness he'd experienced and which had grown like cancer within him for years and years even before he'd met Gadreel. That experience wasn't something that stemmed from the trauma of possession; he remembered feeling that way even before he'd met Jessica, perhaps ever since he'd realised that he'd never have a home or a chance to build lasting relationships. Now he had that all, but just the same now the ache was eating him alive, and Gadreel... Gadreel seemed to easen the pain, as if he filled that opening inside him for something meaningful that would complete him.

The thought was scary. Sam reached towards the bowl of microwave popcorn he'd mostly made for himself but laid in front of them both for the show only, and hoping that chewing through it would take away the uninvited thoughts he chomped a whole handful at once. It didn't; instead he seemed to suddenly become hyperaware of the other next to him and that scary feeling of wholeness he experienced only with Gadreel there.  
A sigh left him, prompting a look from the older, and that look seemed to turn his horizon upside down for a single blink of an eye, leaving him breathless with parts of corn seeds still in his mouth.

This wasn't the first time he felt this way, but even if the feeling always came unexpected, it had never quite surprised him as much as it did now - nor had it ever made him doubt his own judgement with such an intense feeling of dread mixing in with the warmth.  
It never budged again: even when they finally parted at the doorway to Sam's bedroom and Sam listened to the angel close his bedroom's door next to his, he still felt that uninvited desire within him. He lay down in his bed with his heart racing and more awake than he'd been the whole day, but in the end, at least this explained why he was so eager to stand with Gadreel despite all that the other had done and despite the lingering effects those things still had over him. In any other case Sam would have invited the longing, but now he merely felt conflicted: on one hand, it had for the first time in a long, long while made him feel like he wasn't broken, that his skin wasn't full of holes and scars and like he wasn't a mess inside. On the other, however, who was to say that this wasn't exactly because of the way Gadreel had damaged him? Who was to say that hurt hadn't seared all the way to Sam's core to poison him in even more profound ways than he'd ever expected? He knew that his ability to love was affected by the experience, so it was only likely that their shared past had much to do with this feeling he'd now uncovered. And after all, he'd never felt for a man in his life before - although Gadreel wasn't strictly speaking that, he was still male in all the ways that mattered to a human.

With an ache nesting yet again inside his skull and a constricting, yet inconveniently pleasant feeling within his chest the hunter curled up underneath his blanket and dragged it over his head, closed his eyes and forced his mind blank. If the problem would remain in the morning, he'd have a better luck dealing with it with his mind clear from the lack of sleep. And if it didn't - well, that would solve the issue just the same.

 

* * *

 

Gadreel found himself awake for the better part of the night. His vessel - his body - didn't appear to need the rest anymore, so he merely stared up at the ceiling and felt the time flow past him. He felt happy and light after the time spent with Sam, but even more he was excited by the promise of the day ahead of him and the chance to work with his brother and catch up with what was really going on out there, perhaps even find out what were the reasons for him to be here now in the process. So when he heard Sam's alarm from the other room and, promptly, the ceasing of it as the hunter turned it off without getting up from the bed, he didn't hesitate springing up from his bed and wandering off downstairs to find Castiel. To his disappointment, the other angel wasn't up yet, but he didn't need to wait for long: the seraph appeared from the direction of Dean's bedroom with his hair messy but his attire the same as it usually was and in which Gadreel had learned to expect him in even though he now seemed to vary between his choices in clothing almost as much as the hunters did whenever he wasn't on a mission. The younger greeted him with a polite smile and waved him to follow, and they turned to head for the garage.

"Better not waste any time," Castiel spoke as they entered the corridor, "Did you sleep well?"

"I did not sleep," Gadreel replied truthfully, "but I seem to no longer need it, as I feel perfectly well."

Castiel nodded.  
"I hoped you would say that, even though this mission should be safe for us. You never know."

Gadreel nodded. He cast a glance at Castiel's healed, grand and bright wings and felt a twitch of unease within himself at the realisation that his own still carried the memories of the fall and the torture prior to that. Then, almost instantly so that the thought pushed aside that feeling, he noted that Castiel hadn't used his wings for relocation during the time Gadreel had been back despite the fact that they seemed perfectly capable of serving that purpose.  
"Brother," he spoke as they entered the car, hesitating for a moment before landing on the shotgun, "may I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"You are not using flight, though you seem well enough to do so."  
It wasn't a question, but Castiel knew what he meant. The seraph started the car and backed it out of its slot, heading for the ramp out.

"Heaven's power has yet to be restored," he replied, "Flight would use power directly from my grace and I've learned to conserve what I can."  
He cast a look at Gadreel and smiled.  
"It is not due to you, do not worry."

"I... feared it might be," Gadreel admitted, "but then I realised you would have been home earlier yesterday if you had used your powers for it."

Castiel nodded.  
"It is a small price," he said, and the world at dawn spread out for them as the ramp ended, "Besides, I do have a preference for travelling the world as humans do now. There is so much to see."

The older had a small smile on him.  
"I could not agree more," he said.  
He readjusted on his seat and watched the scenery pass by - to an angel, the speed at which they travelled was slow, but he'd learned to appreciate the time it took to travel while serving under Metatron. There was much to see, that was true, but any time he'd been able to take for himself between what felt like breaking at who he was had been more than precious for him before, and that effect still lingered even though the mission he was assigned to now was by no means unpleasant to him and it felt right and good to be on.  
"I assume we did not leave without notice?" he asked after a moment.

"Dean knows I took you out. He'll let Sam know if you did not."

"I let him rest," Gadreel said.

"Good choice."

 

* * *

 

It was half past eleven in the morning when Sam finally slid out of the bed and pulled on a shirt to accompany his pajama pants. He felt as if a half of him was still asleep when he made his way downstairs, a strange excited anticipation over nothing making him dig and dig at his barely responsive mind at what was it that he was waiting for so much, but when he'd gone through the whole of stairs and corridors leading up to the library where Dean was seated with his feet on the table, the feeling was already fading.

"They've gone already, right?" Sam asked as the older raised his head and his hand in greeting.

"At asscrack of dawn," Dean grunted in reply, "Cas woke me up for it."

Sam nodded.  
"I didn't even notice," he said with half a smile.  
For once it ended up this way, and he was glad for that. With a sigh he landed in a chair and brushed down his hair that stuck out into every direction, sniffed and rubbed at his eyes.

"Are you sleepwalking?" Dean's voice asked.

"Yeah," Sam replied in a moan, "I think so. So - what's the day plan?"

"The day plan?"  
The older let out a dry laugh and dragged down his feet from the table.  
"There's none. Enjoy your freedom, Sammy. We're stuck here waiting, no case, no nothing."

"Charlie's coming today?" Sam asked, still busy rubbing his face although he'd now at least moved down from his eyes all the way down to his jaw.

Dean grimaced.  
"No Charlie either; she called me," he said, "Something's come up, she won't make it until tomorrow, but she promised to be early. Okay, so, a question; you've kept the intern busy, right?"

Sam nodded, letting out a small laugh at the question that followed.  
"Yeah, yeah - I've kept him busy. How come?"

"What's he done?"

"Aside writing me a list of potential resurrections -"

"- that's been good for nothing so far," Dean noted, but Sam ignored him.

"- he's revamped our notes on known angels and reorganized and relabeled the Enochian section for us. There's still some work to do but it's finally happening."  
Sam examined the flash of a smile crossing Dean's face before the older nodded approvingly.

"Was about time," he noted, and Sam nodded.

"Yeah."

There was a silence that spanned between them, the kind that spoke of an incoming question that would change the tone of conversation to something less desirable for them; something that Dean appeared unwilling to voice. The older shifted.  
"Want a cup of coffee?" he asked instead, and Sam knew well that it wasn't the question he was holding back.

"Maybe later," the younger replied with a tired smile, "I'm afraid I'll choke if I try to swallow anything. I really don't feel awake yet. Not even, you know, awake enough for coffee. Just let me sleep, Dean."

Dean nodded slowly, his lips bent to a thoughtful, somewhat bitter smile. He sighed and his posture slumped - Sam realised he'd been looking for an excuse to leave the room before saying anything.  
"What is it?" the taller asked, his voice a little more prodding than he'd intended.

Dean shrugged.  
"I don't know if I should be prying," he admitted, then fell silent - his answer didn't really leave Sam with insight into the matter, but the opening alone had served well to make him feel uncomfortable.  
Seconds passed with Dean shifting in his chair in clear and barely held-back discomfort; Sam watched him and wondered if he'd back out before speaking. Finally something like defeat spread into the other's pose and he sighed again.  
"You came to Cas the other night."

"Yeah."  
Sam swallowed. Yeah, he didn't want Dean prying into that at all.  
"What about it?"

"I just - I've been waiting if you'd ever tell me why."

"Dean..."  
A silence. Sam looked away and let out a sigh of his own - a long, weary one, the kind that dragged all the air from his lungs before he was done with it.  
"It's nothing," he finally said.

"I've been trying to pretend that it ain't."

"I know. Please, Dean, just - continue pretending. I try."

The older looked away briefly before shaking his head and turning to Sam.  
"No. I don't think I can. You have to give me something, man, I'm - I'm worried. It's not going to just go away and even if it does if I don't know what it was, how do I know you're not just burying it alive?"

Sam's gaze dropped towards the table. He breathed for a while just concentrating on each inhale and exhale, and that earlier excitement he'd hoarded inside him for no reason was slowly turning over into anxiety instead.  
"I have nightmares," he said then, "Cas - removes them so I can go back to sleep. It's nothing. I just didn't want to worry you, that's all."  
It was enough of a truth to grant him an aura of honesty, and when Sam looked back at Dean, he didn't have to avoid the older's gaze anymore. After wrestling him mentally over the answer the older finally nodded.

"You could have just told me," he said then, visibly relaxing although a seed of doubt still rested within him not fully concealed or erased.

"I didn't want to worry you. I guess I did regardless."

"Those have to be some bad nightmares to need angelic intervention," Dean noted, the look in his eyes hardening.

Sam chuckled.  
"And you never have that kind? Man, our lives are fucked up. Not to the same extent anymore but don't pretend that you're just okay now, because I'm not."

"Yeah," Dean grunted, "I noticed that a while back when you - Sam, seriously, I'm not stupid. I'm not blind either. You were better for a bit and then Gadreel came around and now you're sneaking around with Cas again in the dead of the night telling me that you're fine and that that's okay. It's not. I'd feel a damn lot easier about having that turncoat with us if it didn't flip a switch for you right back to paranoid land. Seriously, Sam, I know you. I know you when you're not alright."

"So that's your reason for being hostile towards him?" Sam asked, sighing.  
"It's not helping. Look, I'm just trying to make everything work out. When it's working, I'll feel better. This isn't going to last forever. I'll be fine."

"Promise me?"

"I promise."

Dean nodded.  
"If you say it'll help if I play nice," he growled unwillingly, "then I will. I'm just worried."

"Me too, Dean. That's the problem. We worry too much. I don't think there's a reason to worry about Gadreel. I think there's a whole lot of reason to worry about other things, though."

The older nodded again.  
"I guess."


	10. Choice & Will

* * *

 

Miriam's vessel was a fragile-looking woman in her forties, who looked grey and sheenless like a malnourished mouse. Her eyes had warmth in them however as she watched Castiel, and even the suspicion that crossed her when she turned to examine Gadreel wasn't the hostile kind but rather just natural reservation.

"Who's he?" she asked.

Gadreel hesitated, both because if there was something he still wasn't used to it was introducing himself by the name that was true to him and because he hadn't been addressed directly. Castiel laid a hand over his shoulder.  
"A friend," he said calmly, "whom I trust."

The female angel nodded and stepped aside, seemingly sated by such an unclear and downright suspicious introduction. Gadreel held onto his new name as he crossed the threshold and entered the incense-scented apartment - a cat brushed against his leg.  
"Gary?" Miriam called into the apartment, "We've got visitors - old colleagues of mine - if you could be a dear and make us some tea?"

Gary wasn't an angel. He was a tall man of about the age of Miriam's vessel with a reserved but honest aura and a curious look in his eyes.  
"Welcome," he simply said before vanishing and continuing from behind the corner, "It'll just take a minute."

Castiel cast a curious look at Miriam, who shrugged in response.  
"I'm adjusted," she simply said, motioning them to follow, "This way, please."

"I am not here to question your," Castiel started and then hesitated, "lifestyle."

For the first time during accompanying the seraph, Gadreel felt a strong urge to roll his eyes. He'd experienced it before multiple times under Metatron's command but Castiel's clumsiness was a whole different sort of awkward. To Gadreel's surprise, Miriam didn't hesitate to do what he'd resisted, and Castiel blushed at the sight of it although the other angel made no other note to question his choice in words.

"Sit down," Miriam told them, waving towards the couch.  
She landed heavy and content into an armchair herself, and once the two visitors had seated themselves, she flicked on the television without so much as touching the remote, seemingly satisfied with the ability to show off her angelic skills - Gadreel wondered how chained she felt around Gary, who seemingly had no idea of her true nature.  
"I assume you're here to discuss my sudden reappearance."

Castiel nodded, but Miriam's eyes had turned back towards Gadreel already.  
"I've never seen you before," she noted.

"You are not the only one."

"I'm trying to imply that it'd be polite to introduce yourself," Miriam continued sharply, "now that you've already been invited in as a friend."

The sentry hesitated - long enough for Miriam to let out a sigh.  
"Unbelievable," she muttered, turning to Castiel, "He's Gadreel, is he not? I can't imagine any one of your other friends having such a difficult time remembering his own name."

For a split second Gadreel was about to argue - not so much to question the conclusion of the other's, but rather to remind Miriam that Gadreel was dead before catching himself just in time to realise how absurd such an argument would have been. Instead he reshaped that thought into something that served their visit better, feeling a distinctive burn about his cheekbones and an empty feeling where he'd previously felt the bottom of his stomach reside.  
"You seem to have no problem assigning names of dead angels to ones living and breathing in front of you," he noted.

"I don't have any misconceptions. If I'm here, others are here, too. I'm not important enough to be chosen specifically for resurrection, not like Castiel was."

"I - I am not very important," the seraph argued, causing Miriam to roll her eyes again.

"So, how many has it been?" she asked.

"Four," Castiel replied, clearly eager to shift the topic from himself, "You were the first; the second we have not yet found, Gadreel was the third, and the fourth we found dead. All evidence we have now points towards demons."

"Charming. Gary is coming, I suggest we don't talk bloody murder while he's present," Miriam replied.  
In a moment's time, Gary did appear: he brought with him a pot full of hot water, a cup full of bagged tea of various kinds and three mugs, clearly excluding himself from the meeting.

"I will be heading off to work then, Miriam," he spoke, nodding politely towards Castiel and Gadreel, "I'll be back 'round four again, call me if you want something from the store."

"Will you be picking up Ben from the vet's office, or do I make that drive?" Miriam asked him.

"I'll pick up Ben, it's not that far," Gary promised, already turning.  
"Nice meeting y'all."

He walked out, leaving behind the three angels and their fumbling about the served tea. Miriam reached to pour water for them all with some huffs and puffs inbetween the pouring.

"Who is Ben?" Castiel asked when she handed him his cup back.

Gadreel accepted his before they had an answer, but Miriam seemed oddly pleased by the question.

"Ben is a pug," she replied, "A dog. He had surgery, but I'll be making sure he doesn't need another. Now, as for the real business; I'm content living away my life this way, Castiel. I don't feel like rejoining Heaven. Ben needs me, but Gary needs me more."

"He knows your true name," Gadreel noted curiously.

Miriam examined him for a moment before nodding.  
"Gary knows a lot about me," she said simply, "Gary knows _enough_. Now - what's this about demons? I assumed I was in danger when I came here, but it sounds like you might have a confirmation."

Castiel nodded.  
"We have to presume that demons are hunting down the resurrected angels. You do not seem weak anymore and I do not think you are in much danger, but I will have to assign some of our brothers and sisters to guard you just in case."

Miriam sighed.  
"Of course you will."

"They will not interfere, unless you invite them in for tea. I understand the desire to - disconnect," Castiel said.  
He looked at Gadreel but Gadreel couldn't read the intent behind that glance. Miriam sipped her steaming drink and cast an empty look at the wall instead, thinking for a while. Her bright white wings twitched to some thought or the other, pulling more tightly over her back.

"I like my life," she said again, "but I worry for the human."

"Of course. That will be a priority concern."

She nodded once more before aiming a drilling look at Castiel.  
"So, onto the questions. I figured you wish to know everything, but I'm afraid there is not much I can give."

"Your best will have to do," Castiel agreed with a hint of a smile.

 

* * *

 

The bath's water soaked Sam's skin and turned it wrinkly, leathery. He slid down along the bottom with a heavy sigh and closed his eyes, trying to reach a clarity of mind that had escaped him for the week. It was easier when Gadreel wasn't here - when he could, in fact, hear Dean rummaging about in the room two walls from his, the occasional knock on the wall a gentle reminder that his family was home and that everything was about right for now. He heard the older exit his room and close the door behind him, his footsteps almost inaudible on the thick stone floor as he approached the bathroom. Sam hadn't locked the door; Dean knew he was in. Still the creak of the door when the older pushed it ajar didn't come as a surprise.

"Sam, did I tell you I left my Colt in the car?"

"You lost your Colt?" Sam chuckled, sliding even further down in his tub, not even bothering to face the small crack of the door's knowing that Dean's eyes were equally turned to the corridor and not towards the inside of the bathroom.

"I didn't lose it, I just don't want to walk all the way back to the garage only to find out that I put it somewhere else. I keep doing this, I need to set up some place I always put it in, dammit. Sorry, Sam."

"It's okay. I think you left it in the car, you didn't carry any arms when you got up."

"Thanks."

The door closed again, leaving the younger with his bath. His lips touched the water's surface and he went underneath for a moment, long enough for the water to completely wet his hair and for that urging pressure to settle into his chest as his lungs longed for air: when he resurfaced, he felt refreshed, somehow like the water had allowed him to be born again into this day. He sighed, palms wading the water, and he pushed his body back against the tub's end to relax safely.

"So," he muttered to the empty room, drawing in a long breath and letting it out in a long exhale that sent drops of water flying and left him feeling heavy and somehow seamless in the water.

 _So._ What was that madness which was driving him?  
It wasn't something he could just leave to itself. Messes tended to grow from small tangled lines into chaos that always, _always_ , went bad somehow at the end - that was the only rule his life abided by. It didn't help to ask first what it was he felt for Gadreel; his subconscious didn't want to explore that subject, and it had a lot more to do with all the things he rather pushed aside than any convenient question of whether he was suddenly turning gay or if this was something he'd had in him the whole time. No, he didn't care about that; flesh was flesh, souls were souls, and if such a time happened to come that he'd feel drawn to a man then so it would be. It didn't surprise him even though he wondered if it should have, but on the other hand, his life really was already so far out of the concept of normalcy that adding such an everyday complication to it such as a minority sexuality almost felt like coming closer to the standard life than moving away from it.   
  
His fingertips ran over his thighs, finding the hair on him more coarse than it was when it was dry, and his breath kept flowing in and out in deep and slow inhales and exhales to keep his mind clear from off-topic wandering.

His driving force. Was it compassion? Was it a simple wish for them to get along, for bad things to stay in the past, or was it related, directly or indirectly, to this newly surfacing feeling?  
The more he thought about it, the more convinced he grew that while he'd decisively misled himself about it, there was a definite tint of that other motivation in his will to integrate Gadreel back into the team. Sure, he didn't want unnecessary conflict. Even more so he didn't want to dig into that festered, infected wound that was only so slowly beginning to turn for healing inside him: he didn't want to talk about Kevin, Kevin was gone and his book had been closed. He opened it every night or so by revisiting the scene of his death, and he still smelled the burnt flesh in the library room sometimes, but he didn't wish to put it on anyone today. It was past. It truly was past. Pushing a finger through the scabbing of a gunshot wound did nothing to help it heal. The only choice he had was to slowly let go the best he could, and letting go in this case did mean forgiving just like forgiving, truly, meant letting go. There was nothing that could ever make the prophet's death undone. There was nothing that he or anyone else could do to fix it now. There was nothing but the choice between remaining hostile and never allowing the wound to heal over, and forgiving and attempting to heal, and he'd made his choice, this was the only thing he was sure of.  
And just the same he didn't wish to talk about his possession. Looking back into it made him sad more than anything: it made him feel his skin in an unnatural way around his flesh, like a binding shell that was choking him, holding back an _other_ within him. Thinking about it trapped him in a vortex of paranoia and even now his skin crawled with the discomfort of fearing there was something inside him, and he shifted, bringing his hands away from his body entirely as he suddenly no longer wished to touch that vessel at all.  
Talking about it... perhaps it would have helped, but it hurt, and it required more trust, more ease, with the angel than what they shared now. Moreover it required Gadreel to feel at least the need to explain himself, if not defend his actions, for Sam to get the proper picture of how he felt about the time behind the guilt and the shame for his actions that now defined him every time the topic was brought up.

So what part did compassion play with all of it? He did feel for Gadreel, in other words than the dreaded new feeling that had surfaced the previous evening. He understood him and he felt, truly, responsible for defending him because he was the only witness, the only one who could stand his ground with him about the things past. But it seemed to play a much smaller part than his affection for the angel, and even less than his own unwillingness to push history back to the surface - it seemed that after all what he'd thought motivated him was just the false surface of politeness that covered up the rest. He was alright with that. It was the right thing to do, and it was the easiest; he couldn't bring himself to hate Gadreel, he hadn't been able to even when it had been convenient for him to do so. He'd been torn between aching too much over what his own brother had done to him and between the fresh memories he still had lingering from the possession itself, the confusing mixture of safety and feeling cared for as well as the pain of being broken open and scattered for all the world to see. He'd been flayed alive but he'd loved it, and that was the mess that had turned him into what he was today. He still didn't know how to grow new skin to cover his tortured body that no longer felt like his own, that more of seemed like something that was open for anyone to use, and into which he alone was chained. It felt, in truth, like a prison, and he within it felt like a prostitute, no, a slave, as even as a prostitute he would have still had at least the control over himself - now he felt like unwanted property that changed owner at the will of others, trash that no one truly wanted which just happened to be bound to something that was desired for its use only.  
What a glorious existence he'd been thrown into. He could no longer seem to remember how it felt like to love what he was; it felt as if his soul was as tainted as his flesh had been from the beginning.

But it wasn't Gadreel's fault. He'd tried to fit that blame on the angel but it sat loosely upon the form that he knew. Of course, the other's actions had done the worst of the damage, but he'd intended nothing but good for Sam, and he'd done his best to serve Sam within the limits of Dean's wishes and his own fears. The two were contrary to one another, and he'd never managed to please one or the other fully: Sam had never wanted him in, and Dean had been consumed by the guilt of forcing him there in the first place, which had left the angel with no allies in the situation. Gadreel had paid the price for his weakness in the end, whether it was the punishment of continued torture or his death by his own hand in the end, and before him, Kevin had suffered in place of the brothers, yet not by Gadreel's desire but rather by the will of Metatron - and Sam had no trouble applying blame to the scribe, not then and not now. That was such an easy target for hate, someone deserving, someone twisted and uncaring to whom he owed nothing. It felt relieving to him now as he bowed his head to cast more water over it before lathering his hair with shampoo and rubbing his scalp and face and shoulders clean. Foam sailed on the surface of the cooling water and he watched it absently.

Now that all of that was out of the way; what was it that he felt for Gadreel?  
He wished it had been a simple question - the range went on from modest fear to pity to bitterness all the way up to respect and compassion, but none of that was what he was after. With some difficulty he returned to breathing slowly as he washed off the soap from his body: he settled on his knees in the tub and waited until Dean's footsteps had passed and the door of his room had closed again.

Yes, he loved Gadreel. Not in the way he'd loved others before but in a way that felt like splintered wood trapped between a closing door, but it was a good feeling and concentrating upon it made him feel warm and, with a flood of relief and surprise, it made him smile. It was definitely a good feeling, something he wanted to hang onto no matter how inconvenient its presence was - it was something he wanted to work on, something he wanted to preserve, foster, even cultivate. It was a feeling which he realised and felt that he truly needed now: something he wanted, simple and pure.

His fingers tugged out the plug from the tub's bottom and he stepped up, turned on the shower and for what felt like the first time in months truly felt the warmth of the water that rinsed the stale water and soap from his skin.  
 _His_ skin.  
 _His_ to decide whom he let near; whom he allowed to touch. Perhaps there was a chance that finally after all these years he'd feel someone near again and enjoy it the way he longed for. Perhaps... even more than that. After all, the living proof of angels longing for those same things, or at least things of the same sort, breathed in the next room, yet love and all its ilk were never sure things. Even if Sam felt this - even if he felt it as strongly as he now suddenly did, and even if it echoed the gentleness that he'd felt radiate from the grace that had occupied him before - it didn't mean that his feelings were returned, and much had changed since the time he'd felt loved by the sentry's presence within him.  
Yet still he hoped, and that hope was of the good kind: it seemed that washing had purified this feeling, and now he no longer felt conflicted in his desires. For once he seemed to know exactly what he needed.

 

* * *

 

A part of Gadreel was relieved when they left Miriam's apartment, yet another seemed to long for what he left at the same time, as even as the car moved along the road back towards home, he couldn't shake the warmth that being accepted had left him with. He'd been treated the same as any angel, something that had never been his part: first he'd been revered above the rest for his post, and then, well, the long period of torture and hatred had nearly wiped that as well from his mind. He couldn't remember what it had been like to be just an angel, yet now he felt that he was - Castiel kept casting quiet smiles in his direction as if aware of the happiness within the older. And most likely he could truly sense it, as Gadreel was doing next to nothing to keep it hidden: it was something that his aura alone would communicate, if only Castiel cared to look for it.

"You adjust well, brother," the seraph ended a long silence.

"Thank you," Gadreel automatically responded, "Though I only do what I must."

"Quite the contrary," Castiel countered; "You do a lot more than only what you must. I've... worked with many angels, and I'm sad to say that not half of them take initiative."

They seemed both surprised at the chuckle that escaped Gadreel. The older shook his head and sighed, casting a look away from Castiel even if it was only to escape the curiosity that his human response had likely prompted.  
"Would you believe that the most scolding I received while serving under Metatron was for my lack of initiative and enthusiasm?"

Castiel chuckled as well, although it fit him much better than the sentry. He lowered speed to match the road that glittered with ice: temperature had fallen below the freezing point again, and all the moisture that had gathered from the melting snow was now turning to thin, invisible black ice over the asphalt.  
"I think that might be the only occasion where an angel should feel proud for his shortcomings," the younger noted with a smile.

Gadreel nodded slowly, and neither of them spoke for another five, ten minutes again. The scenery changed and with his recovering ability to connect with the signals around him, Gadreel could sense them nearing destination even though it still remained far: he had a longing within him that was similar to, but not the same as, what he'd felt for heaven.  
"You reside in the bunker now," he cut off the silence thoughtfully, "Do you think it a home to you?"

Castiel nodded.  
"I do."  
He had another smile on him, this one almost a bittersweet kind, with something behind it that was stronger than the fondness in his voice. Gadreel felt the fine hair on his neck stand up to it and his heart skipped a beat for reasons he couldn't understand in response to the feeling that he received as an echo from Castiel. It seemed to stir something within himself as well, something at the very centre of that longing he felt as if its core was responding to the particular tone that the seraph had voiced and expressed.

"Why did you move in, if I may ask?"

Castiel glanced at the sentry and his smile widened.  
"That is a good question," he noted, "I expected it sooner."  
He drove on for a moment without speaking, but Gadreel let him think, as he expected the answer to not be quite as simple. Of course, Castiel had the reputation of one who preferred earth; he felt at home walking amongst humans almost as if as one of them, and perhaps being as close to human himself as an angel could come after Metatron had used his grace for the spell which had freed Gadreel, Castiel now had a part of him more firmly tied to this place than one who'd not walked it as flesh ever would. But even then, his true home was always meant to be Heaven, yet he'd chosen to spend a lifetime, perhaps more, in this place rather than where he belonged - and with no seeming pressing reason for it, as Gadreel was bound with.  
"There are many reasons," the seraph finally spoke as thoughtfully as he'd remained silent, "but above all, it's Dean. It's always been Dean."

He glanced at Gadreel with a fond smile and shook his head slightly before facing the road again.

"You love him," Gadreel noted.  
His tone lacked all judgement - it was merely an observation, and Castiel nodded.

"I do. Very much."  
He let out a small laugh and adjusted in his seat, his eyes shining brightly in the very way only a human's could - for a moment Gadreel failed to see a brother in him but rather he was as if human, completely detached from the nature wrought into his grace at creation yet not in a bad way. It seemed to fit him somehow better than being an angel did, and not even the sight of his wings resting in the small space offered to them could fully break the illusion.  
"It was him who first taught me that love is a force of good, even if it is experienced by an angel: that our emotions are not inherently bad, but can serve to guide our hands. And that the same goes for free will. I assume that still scares you, and I wouldn't blame you for it, brother."

Gadreel remained silent: he didn't know what to say, for Castiel was right and he did still fear the vastness of freedom, the whole of it but perhaps the very most the freedom of choice offered to him. He'd messed up every time he'd been allowed to think for himself and for that reason alone, although by nature he was inclined to believe otherwise, he remained uncertain of whether free will was at all something for angels to strive for. Castiel had had his mistakes as well, and they'd been as devastating as Gadreel's, if not quite so profound - and just like for Gadreel's, Castiel's mistakes had been paid for with the suffering and lives of innocents rather than himself, that much Gadreel did know. Suddenly he felt more at ease with the subject; if there was one with whom he could talk of it, Castiel was that angel.

The seraph turned to look at him, perhaps looking for an answer, before speeding up and concentrating on the road.  
"We have no choice," he said then, as if trying to help the older with his inner conflict, "but you and I, we have the best teachers. I've learned that as long as I trust them - as long as I listen to them, even when they are wrong - nothing ends as bad as when I don't."

"You speak of the Winchesters."

Castiel nodded.  
"It seems unfair for them to," he said and his sentence was cut off with a huff, "to have to hold the hands of creatures like us, but God is gone - if not them, then no one will. Angels hardly listen to angels. There is mutiny even today, and it's likely to never end. The only way we can learn is if we humble ourselves and listen to the humans. They were given the gift of free will and that was sealed by choice, something we've never had. We have to follow their example, or we will die clinging to what no longer exists."

A choice - the glance that Castiel granted in Gadreel's direction at the word made clear that he meant the fall of Eden. The older turned his head away and tried to calm his aching heart. That was a strange way of looking at it, but in the end, what Lucifer had done - what Gadreel had allowed him to - had indeed in a manner of speaking sealed the choice of men to act of their own true nature, for better or worse.

"It was easy to hate you," Castiel continued, once more as if sensing where the older's thoughts wandered, as his eyes now strictly lay upon the road even as Gadreel's head jerked back to cast a surprised, if not hurt, look at him; "but I realise now that everything does happen for a reason, even the things that you rather would believe were... out of God's hands."

Slowly, the older nodded.  
"It was easier for me to believe that as well," he admitted, "That all my suffering was by His will, even as I reminded myself that I was not the victim and my pain was not the pain I should be mourning."

"Well," Castiel said dryly, "I wouldn't blame you for some resentment over that."

"Resentment seems like the right word to use for what I sometimes felt."

The younger smiled, his smile now lacking the prior happiness entirely. It was as dry a smile as his voice had been before.  
"But it's past now," he spoke then, "those responsible are dead, and so is the past. It only matters what you do today. I do what I can to learn. I hope that you do so as well."

Gadreel nodded; he seemed to keep hearing that sentiment.  
"As you said," he spoke after a minute of silence, "we learn from the best. Sam has been good to me: much beyond what I deserve."

Warmth leaked back into Castiel's expression and he nodded happily.  
"That boy has an endless supply of goodness in him," he said, "and I've seen that you respect him the way he deserves."

"I know enough of him to know that all the respect I have in me is respect he deserves; he is human and he is flawed, but he is good like no other I've met, and he is sincere and he is pure in a way that challenges grace."

The next look Castiel gave Gadreel was examining, suddenly almost suspicious, and lasted long enough for Gadreel to worry about the road. When it ended, Castiel simply nodded and the conversation was finished there.


	11. A(n In)significant Breakthrough

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bring some salt with you, I dropped a whole bag of sugar into this on accident. You know, the kind where you can't spoon it out anymore once it's there. I tried.

* * *

 

Sam's heart was pounding from the moment he heard the footsteps head down the stairs. He perked up and cast an expecting look to the direction, prompting a quiet huff and a headshake from Dean, who sat opposite and to the right of him with a plate of microwaved takeaway from the other night.  
"You look like an overly eager puppy, Sam, tone it down a bit."

The younger didn't spare him the time of the day to comment, merely felt the corner of his mouth twitch; he'd had his revelation, and he didn't mind being a dog about it.

"God," Dean muttered, hopped up with the chopsticks still heading for his mouth, dropped them back on his plate so that one of them rolled over onto the table spreading sauce stains around with it, and without paying it any attention the man walked to greet Castiel with a warm but brief hug.  
"So, Cas - Charlie got caught up with something and she's delayed until tomorrow, but I've got something I need to show you anyway. Anything pressing to report, or can I just steal you away right now?"

"We didn't find out much," Castiel admitted, "I can come. Good to see you up, Sam."

Sam waved at the older.  
"Good to see you back home in one piece," he stated in turn with a smile, but his eyes soon strayed to look for Gadreel who'd followed Castiel at the usual distance of some two, three feet like a bodyguard.

He didn't seem to expect Sam to look at him, and was visibly surprised to be caught in an eye contact: Sam smiled at him, feeling a distinctive ache in his chest as his heart skipped a beat and then raced forth again like driven by sudden madness. A part of him was terrified to be left alone with Gadreel right now, but another just wanted Dean and Castiel out of sight so he could do whatever would inevitably happen next - he didn't have the words yet, but he needed answers.

"Sam, you wanna come with?" Dean asked, cutting the younger off from the nervous expectations.

Sam shook his head.  
"I'm fine, thanks."

"Okay."  
Dean's eyes flitted towards Gadreel and he frowned, shrugged and landed a palm over Castiel's back.  
"Not going to say no to privacy," he noted then with half a grin, taking the first steps to leave the room.

Gadreel still stood at the end of the hall watching after Castiel as the two disappeared and Sam stood up: he closed the book he'd been reading and slid it to the middle of the table, teeth nipping at his lip as he wondered how to take the necessary steps, but instinct seemed like the best way to go about it so at the end of the brief stillness that had taken over the room, the younger simply walked to Gadreel.  
Their eyes met again.

"Did you sleep well?" Gadreel asked, his voice lost as Sam kept approaching him - he had to sense the aura of the younger's just fine, and Sam didn't blame him for the confusion.

"I slept fine," the younger said, drew in a breath, didn't stop in time and leaned to grab the sleeves of the angel's jacket; he felt the stillness, the stiffness in the other's form and heard his breath hitch as he stepped away the last distance between them and leaned to kiss him.

To his surprise, the older didn't even attempt to move away or dodge; he just stood there, lips parted, nose smushed against Sam's cheek, hands half-way between them as if lost on their way somewhere, perhaps to push Sam away or to touch him, Sam couldn't tell.  
He tasted of fresh winter air and definitely unique in comparison to all the others Sam had kissed before - there was no dull-tasting lipstick on him, no sticky balms, no peppermint candies or strawberry chapstick on him. He was soft skin and rough stubble, slowly melting tension and questions; he didn't seem opposed to it when Sam kept pushing him backwards, but the hunter could feel the shock of his when his back hit the library wall and pressed into it and he had no space left to move. Finally his hands remembered the course they'd stopped upon, reaching inches forwards to touch Sam's hip; they slid over onto his waist and just like that he joined the kiss, lips moving against Sam's with a sort of hunger the younger hadn't expected in them, friction heating up until saliva covered their skins and it was easy to repeat the movements again and again until that heat was all Sam felt inside him. He knew before committing that it was a stupid move, but he couldn't help himself; he pressed his body against the other's and his hands charged underneath the jacket to be just that much closer to skin, the soft fabric of the black hoodie bending to his fingers as submissively as Gadreel had given in to his outburst. Now he wasn't quite so submissive anymore; there was fight in him, something that Sam had tasted before, a certain assertive way to his movements and response that while it remained affectionate, it no longer could be defined as gentle in tone. The hunter's body ached - he loved this with all his battered existence, with his bruised soul as much as with his used body, and somehow he felt convinced for the time being that the male he was kissing didn't find him definable by those adjectives. Through the struggle to dominate, preserve some sort of a pecking order in this new way of being together, there was still timidness in Gadreel - he still didn't seem completely certain of what was happening, or if he was welcome there the way he was. It bothered Sam, but the only thing he could do was to try and kiss it away.

When the kiss finally faded into a few separate new ones that didn't prompt such a continuation and at last ended completely, the two of them remained close like they'd been, forehead against forehead and breathless, trying to figure out what it was that had happened, and which approach to life as it now began was appropriate.

"You kissed me back," Sam noted after a moment of silence, stepping back as if afraid Dean would return with Castiel and catch them like this, "Quite honestly I wasn't expecting that."

Gadreel nodded in the lost manner that seemed so typical for him, almost apologetically.  
"Neither was I. I... was not expecting... to be kissed, either."

"I think I need to explain," Sam continued, hand parting from where it had rested over Gadreel's arm but the other sliding down until it found the angel's hand.

Gadreel nodded again.  
"I hoped that you would," he clumsily said, casting a glance towards Sam but resuming staring at his knees afterwards.

"Did you - did you, um, did you like it?" Sam asked him, unsure where to take this conversation in the physical world.  
His bedroom seemed the safest bet but it also held implications that he didn't wish to give - he wasn't ready for that and he doubted Gadreel was either. The older examined him for a while again before nodding once more. He didn't seem to have the words to agree, but Sam felt confident that his nod spoke the truth of things: he'd been eager in his response after the first shock had faded, and although it was perfectly possible that he'd only responded because he'd felt obliged to, Sam liked the alternative of him wanting to better. In full truth, he had not expected any response beyond perhaps being turned down, but he'd also feared that Gadreel might give in out of guilt or indeed obligation, and that was something they needed to talk out right away before he, in his good faith, took things further or allowed himself to believe that there was a possibility for growth here.  
He hadn't really thought about that: he hadn't done the whole consideration part as throughoutly as he usually did. That was how firmly he'd truly believed in failure, or how strictly he'd avoided considering this something that could be real for them, and only now as he finally made the choice and led Gadreel towards the study where Dean was unlikely to randomly turn up in, Sam realised the potential of what he'd started. It was entirely likely that he'd accidentally started a relationship that he didn't feel he was ready to have, much less with Gadreel no matter what he felt - yes, he liked the feeling of being in love. He loved the idea of a relationship. But the truth was, he didn't know what it took, not with Gadreel and not with himself and definitely not with the combination of the two. Still, against all reason, the idea was exciting for him, to such a degree that at the prospect of it he stopped them at the study's doorway and resumed the kiss. This time, he felt Gadreel lean into it before it began and there was no sign of hesitation, only the burn of longing in the way that their lips met.  
The kiss ended soon but it left Sam smiling and his heart leaped at seeing that mirrored upon Gadreel's features, and even more at the sight of the older's eyes staying closed as if he'd still wanted more and now wished to stay in what he'd had.

Again there was stillness that followed: the study's couch was right there, but the doorway suddenly seemed just as good, at least as long as Sam could just watch the emotions rush in the older's expression.  
Finally Gadreel's lips parted and his eyes opened just the same.  
"I've never been touched," he spoke carefully, curiously, "in this manner before."

Sam nodded. It was an inviting thought.  
"I know," he said, although he'd never really thought of it before.

"It - does not come naturally," the angel continued, "I do not... experience, like you would, desire or the need for physical intimacy, yet... it feels good to be kissed, it feels good to be touched like you touch me now. I merely wonder _why_."

"Why I'm kissing you?"

"Yes."

"Yeah, that's... a good question."  
Sam sighed and leaned his weight over to his left leg. His gaze turned towards the same direction and he mapped the sight of the room they'd barely entered, wondering.  
"I've been asking that for some time now. Why I want to do it. I didn't realise you wanted it, too."

"I do not blame you," Gadreel noted with a small frown on him, "I did not know, either. The thought never crossed my mind."

"But you did? Want that."

"I did."

"It felt good," Sam continued awkwardly; he had no idea how to lead this conversation, not even now that he'd solved the space issue.  
His words prompted another quiet nod from the older.  
"Do you think - I mean - you think you want the whole mile?"

"You speak of a relationship."

"This is awkward."

The smile on Gadreel's lips turned more defined and clear.  
"I could not agree more," he said, "but if I may - you do not seem so certain yourself, of whether you want that with me. Am I wrong?"

Sam shrugged.  
"You're not right, either."

"So you'd say that you do not know. I would say the same. I have no idea what it would demand of me, as I am not accustomed to the concept. The thought seems strange to me. I never thought that things such as this would pertain to myself."

"So we're just... going to pretend this didn't happen?" Sam asked, feeling somewhat mortified and more than just slightly anxious.

Gadreel looked away for a moment.  
"It seems like something that cannot be undone," he finally spoke, looking back at Sam with a thoughtful expression, "Nor would I necessarily - I would - I wish to know why, still."

"We should probably sit down, you know."

The older nodded. He followed Sam to the couch and settled on it with him, the distance between them the same as it had been the days before which only seemed to highlight the impossibility of the situation Sam had suddenly got them in.  
"I realised earlier that - shortly put - I want you. I don't know exactly how or why but I know that I want to be close to you. I know it seems paradoxical and strange and probably impossible, illogical and damaging, but I do, and it doesn't feel wrong to want that. It feels like something I - ugh - I just want this, but I'm not sure to what extent or how I want it to be. I'm not sure how it could be, because like you said, you don't... you're an angel."

Gadreel watched Sam curiously as he spoke, concentratedly, and seemed to agree with what he said, yet now that he'd turned that way the distance between them didn't seem like much anymore, and when he finally crossed that by carefully extending his arm across the space and turning his palm for Sam to take, and when Sam did exactly that, it was as good as gone. Warmth flooded the younger and he smiled even as heat charged up to his cheeks and he felt it light up his eyes with the kind of joy that he hadn't felt in a long time.  
"On the other hand," the hunter spoke with a crooked smile, "Cas seems to have adjusted just fine."

Gadreel nodded.  
"I thought the same," he said with a small smile on him as well, and he seemed to be tracking the light that Sam felt that he was radiating at the moment, the smallest of changes upon his features and in his eyes.  
"I apologise, I do not know how to respond to you."

"I want to know," Sam aided him on, "how you feel about me. I mean, you - it seemed like you feel something similar for me."  
Something similar was an understatement: he was nearly certain Gadreel felt the exact same for him from the way he'd reacted and how he appeared to long for that touch and proximity like Sam did.

"It is more complicated for me, I am afraid," Gadreel said.  
He hesitated and looked about the room for a while as he sought the words to use; Sam gave him the time, as this didn't seem like it was about to be the point where he was to hear his feelings were entirely onesided. Rather, he could already tell it was more about angels and emotions than it was about anything else.  
"I am not - I am not to feel," the older finally spoke, confirming Sam's suspicions, "yet I do in my own way, as you've come to know. You... are very special to me, and hearing that you feel for me is a gift unlike any I thought I could ever receive. To even think you would wish to let me close to you in this way is - it defies words, but I am grateful that you are willing to trust me like that. I am not answering your question, am I?"

Sam laughed.  
"No, I'm sorry but I think you need to try a bit harder."

"It seems unbelievable that you'd choose me out of everyone. Especially - I am sorry if it is not appropriate, but I am male, and you are - I - I thought I knew your needs, yet it seems I was wrong, for if you feel for me, what I read from you was untrue."

"You mean, uh, I'm not - what?"  
They watched one another for a moment before Sam burst out laughing.  
"This is ridiculous," he said, dragging his palm across his face as if to wipe away the tension and disbelief from his mind, "Are you trying to ask me the question I think you're asking?"

"I am merely surprised that you'd find yourself attracted to me, as I present in a male form. That... is not the way you are built."

"I know."  
Sam's response seemed to surprise the older, but he sensed relief as well, perhaps because the way he'd phrased it had been next to incomprehensible yet Sam seemed to have held on regardless.  
"I mean, I didn't know it's somehow encoded in my system, but yeah, I've never been attracted to a guy in my life. I guess things change."

Gadreel nodded.  
"In turn, I am angel. I am not supposed to feel attraction. I never thought to question that before," he spoke thoughtfully.

Sam raised a brow, the amusement fading from him yet leaving behind a certain lightness that wiped away most of the anxiety he'd felt before.

"I think," the sentry continued after a moment, "that what I feel towards you is defined as attraction in the human terms. I am drawn to you in a way I've never experienced with another being. It is a unique feeling, one that seemed to become more intense when you kissed me. As if it changed, responded to that. I enjoyed it, and I felt a need for it, a - a desire to feel you close again. I did not wish it to end, yet at once, I wished to speak to you or that I would be able to at least watch you, I still wish these things at the same time. I want to be with you, and your presence gives me great comfort and yet I feel a longing that is not sated by the conversations we've had, something that I felt stronger than ever when you were close to me. I felt as if it is a need that I can only fulfill by being close to you in this way - the way you showed me. And I feel relieved to be able to speak this to you, even though you must be tired of listening to me by now. I regret that there are no short words for me to explain what I've never felt before."

"It's okay," Sam heard himself say and there was no lie in it - he could have listened to the older speak for a whole day, although he likely would have phased out from the context soon enough and simply tuned into the voice itself, its softness, the intonations and subtleties that were so fine in his speech that it was difficult to define them.  
"I get it, I do. I'm... actually glad you need to take time answering to me, because it gives me a... I don't know, I get a much better picture when you describe it to me than if you'd just use easy words to define it. I've never actually had anyone describe to me how they felt and it's... I mean, it's easier to trust when you show rather than when you just say, you know?"

Gadreel perked up at the words; he seemed to come to a sudden realisation, and his eyes sharpened and his expression became determined.  
"I can show you," he said, "I can let you feel what I feel. I do not know if there is clarity in that, as there certainly is none for me, but there is a way I can open a gateway between us much like the one we shared while I - when I stayed with you without your permission. It demands nothing of you, and you are to give me nothing in turn; it is solely the link through which you can feel my presence, if you so will."  
There was shame in his voice but Sam disregarded it; he didn't want to talk about that, and it wasn't relevant now. Instead, against the anxiety that the very thought of inviting back any aspect of the possession roused in him, he nodded.

"Okay."

It flared to life like a flame, spreading in a blink of an eye from Sam's hand where they still touched to his whole existence so that he felt as if all of Gadreel was an extension of his own body, and it didn't take him more than that to know what the other felt. He didn't even have to look, as it seemed that Gadreel offered the feeling to him straight ahead: it was an ache, a strong ache full of feelings that were, for Sam, relatively easy to pinpoint. He couldn't hold back the smile and he closed his eyes to allow himself to become lost in that vastness of being; he realised that despite his fears he'd longed for this feeling of being one with the older and he'd missed this presence above all, as there was something that defined Gadreel which he'd lost when he'd banished the older from within him, something he'd truly missed afterwards and which had pained him as a loss like that of a limb. Now it was back and he didn't want it to go anywhere again, yet Gadreel seemed to feel him the same and allowed him the time he wanted to take before Sam finally of his own will parted their hands and the connection disappeared. He nodded, feeling breathless from the experience but oddly sated and calm again.

"Yeah, that's love," he said with a lost smile.  
"That's how I feel, too."

 

 

* * *

 

 

There was excitement within Gadreel unlike any he'd ever felt before (or at least never since God had chosen him to be the one to guard the Garden of Eden and he'd for the first time experienced that feeling) when Sam turned, climbed onto the couch and moved over him. They kissed again, the younger leaning his body over Gadreel's and bringing his legs on both sides of the older's hips: he never really sat there but rather leaned onto his knees to stay just that much above the point of contact, yet his whole body rested over Gadreel's and Gadreel had the chance to wrap his arms around Sam's waist again as he'd tried to do before. It was even more intimate here than before and he felt a need to guide the younger's body down until it rested over his legs without much of the weight balancing on Sam's own legs anymore. The younger made a sound at the feeling, a content, curious small sound, but the kiss didn't break. His own hands rested on both sides of Gadreel's face and his hair tickled the vessel's cheeks, but nothing drowned or even offered contest to the overwhelming feeling that controlled everything: the one that Sam had named for him and which he didn't fight. It was the most pleasant and yet one of the most terrifying feelings he'd ever experienced, as the sheer power of it was enough to completely change him and his needs and what he'd ever thought of himself or his relationship to, and his place in, the world. He'd only ever thought of himself the guardian of men, and as a guardian, he'd always thought himself stronger in a sense, someone who'd stand between them and any threat that would come - this shift in the relationship between him and Sam Winchester not only challenged that, but destroyed the notion. He wondered if Sam realised the same, but in taking control he'd broken the order between them where a man was supposed to be weaker than an angel, and in doing so he'd lowered Gadreel on the same standard as himself, truly made them equal, and there was no power in the angel that wasn't in the man already and he felt as if the other's bare fists could have broken him like his grace was nothing but flesh and bone. He'd be no match for Sam; he'd known that ever since he'd found himself powerless to fight back, unwilling just as he was unable to force his control over the younger's body, and he knew now that if there was a weaker between them it was definitely him and not the other way around. Yet just the same he knew that if there would ever be a time that it would be necessary, he'd stand Sam's ground to his death and beyond like he'd promised to stand by the Gates of Eden and he would never let a soul pass who intended harm to the one he guarded. Now, it felt as if he'd been granted a new purpose, and that purpose pumped life into him as the kiss went on and as Sam relaxed into his hold, his body warm and soft against Gadreel's own, the one he'd only recently realised was under his control and the same as his grace in all the things that mattered. It was too easy to slip into it now, too easy to give in to the desire he'd thought he didn't even feel to begin with, yet through talking and opening that connection between them it seemed that he'd either learned to feel it, or learned that he'd always known it before after all.

"How long?" Sam muttered breathlessly over Gadreel's lips.  
"How long have you - I mean - how long do you think you've loved me? Since today? Since this week, since before?"

"A long time," Gadreel replied with a hint of desperation in his voice, "I feel perhaps longer than I knew your name. In this way - the way that I feel it now - I've felt it ever since I was protecting you."

"You're lying."

"I do not lie."

"That makes it even worse. That's - the sappiest thing I've ever heard in my life."

Another kiss drowned out any complaint that would have made its way past the gasps for air that Gadreel was fighting to draw, and he welcomed that kiss. His head seemed light and his world was blurry and strange and unreal and all that mattered was the weight and warmth of Sam on his lap and the touch of his hands and the feel of his waist and the life that pulsed within him and the fact that he was healthy and that happiness and comfort echoed from his aura like the light of stars combining.

"I need this," Sam's words broke the kiss again, "It doesn't make sense but I need this and I want you to be mine, whatever it means."

"I am yours, if that is what you wish for. Whatever it means."

"You're learning. Giving out promises no one can keep is the epitome of humanity."

Gadreel smiled.  
Their foreheads touched again as they breathed together, nose against nose, the same air the other had just let out.  
"Greed is human, too," the angel said carefully, almost afraid to admit to the feeling.

"So you feel that by now?"

The older nodded, still as hesitantly as he'd spoken.  
"I desire you, after all," he admitted.  
"I do not know how."

"That sounds really sexual, and I'm not sure if that's how you mean it."

"I do not know how I mean it. I already told you so."

Sam laughed.  
"God, I wish Dean wasn't home. I don't know how to bring this to him but I just - I don't want to stop either and if we continue forever he'll eventually come here and well, I won't need to, then."

A small amused huff escaped Gadreel as well. A moment passed in silence during which Sam seemed to try and remember how it felt like to exist individually: Gadreel realised he'd forgotten it just the same, yet it wasn't such a strange thing to an angel who by default was not to have an individual self at all.  
The younger stretched and rubbed at his neck - Gadreel never let go of his waist and Sam didn't seem to want him to.

"This is probably inappropriate," the hunter stated with a grimace, "but I definitely desire you sexually, and that's... weird. I don't even know why I feel like I can tell you that but it's not like you weren't there when I - whenever I - I mean, you already know, I'm human."

"I sensed that, yes."

"Great."  
Sam let out a dry laugh and he shook his head.  
"I think I'm gonna grab a glass of water and cool down a bit."

Gadreel nodded.  
"I'm sorry," he offered again, even though he felt like he'd stated that more than he'd ever done in his life before.  
He'd always had trouble with the words: they'd been demanded of him when he'd not been the slightest bit sorry, and the demands had left them as if forbidden to speak, a sign of weakness and of submission under false premises, yet with Sam, they were easy to speak. Too easy, for he seemed to be sorry for everything now. Perhaps he was.

"For what?" the younger asked, scoffing, "For not sleeping with me on the first date? I'm not that kind of a guy. Well, I don't prefer to be, anyway. I don't even know if I want that. I'm not sure about anything. Like you said, I'm, uh, not into men so this is a bit - I'm still figuring it out, if that makes sense."

"More than you know," the sentry sighed - he wasn't anywhere near in the clear of what was happening, and least of all he was clear with himself, his own desires and needs as he suddenly seemed to have gained a hundred more than he'd ever had before. Prior to this past hour, his existence had been what now appeared throughoutly straightforward and easy: with a single stroke Sam had undone all of that and given him as if another self that he now somehow had to bring to be one with the self that he'd known all along.  
His response seemed to amuse Sam, who laughed freely again.

"I think it'd be best if you stayed here to, uh, work on something," the hunter said then, "while I go for the drink. I feel like I maybe need a moment alone."

Gadreel nodded again.  
"I think that is a good idea," he said, as his head was spinning and the whole thing was a little too much to take in.  
His whole being seemed to protest but it couldn't be that he was to become attached like this to Sam; they were still separate, not one in the spirit or flesh, and he'd have to eventually let the younger go no matter how much he wanted to seep into his being and reside beside him for the rest of eternity.

"Yeah."

Yet Sam didn't seem to be going anywhere: he leaned in instead and laid his head on the older's shoulder, closed his eyes and kept breathing steadily but almost shyly, so quiet and small the breaths were.  
"I never got the chance to think about it," he finally spoke again, "but when you died, I think something died in me too. Something I don't know what it was and I never really realised it because of what happened to Dean that day, but I think I felt the loss anyway. And I've felt it until today, because I suddenly feel like... like I'm somehow more whole than I've been in years again. And I don't mean that in any romantic, figurative way, but more like that even though Castiel said it'd be gone, there was still some of your grace in me, and that it just disappeared when you were gone."

They were both quiet for a while again before Sam continued: he pulled up and slipped off of Gadreel's lap to stand on his own trembling legs, but he had that crooked smile on him that told the older that he was almost himself again.  
"Stay alive this time. That's all I want."

The angel tilted his head and a distinctive, sharp pain cut him from his chest. Then, slowly, he nodded before he realised he was about to.  
"I promise."

Sam nodded in turn and smiled, and with that he turned and began making his way back towards the library.  
"I'll get that water now. Come get me once you've done whatever it is that you're about to do," he spoke as he went, and Gadreel felt like something from him had caught onto Sam and moved further as the younger did.

Yet still, he smiled as he stayed on the couch, head swimming and eyes closed and his whole body burning strangely from all the parts that Sam had touched, and he'd never felt happier than he did in that moment.


	12. Uncertain Ground

* * *

 

Sam shivered at the familiarity of the footsteps that followed an invisible path towards him; he stood in the kitchen, not again but rather still - he'd settled there to clean up vigorously like his brother often did when things were hard on him or on the rare occasion he'd fought with Castiel. Dean had found him there and asked no questions, rather only raising a brow at him and taking note of it with a half-hearted joke that Sam had accepted happily in place for true inquiry, and it seemed that his cheerfulness had settled Dean's mind rather than raised more suspicions, as the man had left him be after thanking him for the job and pointing out there was still some dirt over by the fridge. Now it wasn't Dean who approached, and it wasn't Castiel either: that knowledge made the fine hair on Sam's body stand up and a stupid smile return to his lips. He turned in expectation, hip leaning back to the stove, and waited until Gadreel's shape appeared in the doorway.

"I am ready," the angel announced carefully, appearing like he wasn't sure if such a statement was necessary.

Sam nodded.  
"Tired yet?"

Gadreel nodded in turn, although the gesture was hesitant.  
"It has been an eventful day," he slowly replied.

"Can't argue with that. Do you need a new set of clothes or something that I can bring you when I go to bed?"

"I need nothing, thank you."

They stood there - the usual awkwardness was back, this time tinted by the definite feeling of something more lingering within the usual simplicity of it. Sam's smile was crooked, and Gadreel appeared still so confused about standing there that when he announced he was going to retreat upstairs, it didn't surprise Sam the slightest bit. The younger wished him a good night and returned to scrubbing the oven soon after: his heart was beating fast even after Gadreel had vanished from the doorway and he was left alone with his cleanings, and he felt restless until the whole space was spotless some twenty minutes later with nothing more to do. A part of him considered moving onto the study but weariness weighted in his bones as well; he was rather certain it was better to leave it in the usual state rather than half-clean it and highlight the way the rest was still untidy. As he finished up and left the kitchen to head to bed himself he realised that he'd already made up his mind about this perhaps hours earlier, and yet it still surprised him when he actually stepped past his own bedroom's door and knocked on Gadreel's door instead. As usual, it was ajar, but he didn't glance inside before being welcomed; he didn't dare to.

The older sat on his bed in his grey shirt and jeans; the rest were bundled up on the chair, even his socks had been folded there. He gave Sam a confused, yet warm look before standing up - Sam pushed the door behind him as closed as he dared without blocking out the ray of light that slipped past and then he stepped towards Gadreel, curious where it would lead him. The older hesitated visibly when Sam didn't make it easy for him by initiating something but simply stood there expecting Gadreel to make the move instead, but to Sam's surprise the sentry did decide on doing something after all: he took the last step separating them and brought his arms around the younger's shape again, and Sam welcomed the embrace by mirroring the movement and resting his head over the other's shoulder. He enjoyed the way their chests pressed together, as he could almost believe he could feel Gadreel's heart beating against his body and it seemed like a good way to be: he'd never had a partner who was as tall as him and he'd sometimes wondered how it felt. Well, it didn't feel bad - it felt oddly balanced and natural when he didn't have to watch himself all the time or think how to position himself in an embrace like this. Even more than that he loved knowing that he could pretend to be small here and believe in the illusion.

"I just came to say good night," he muttered into the embrace.

Gadreel nodded: Sam felt it against him and heard the shifting sound of it in his ear that got caught between them. His hold grew looser and Sam stepped half a step back, not entirely breaking the hold but feeling it fall apart around himself regardless. His own hands mirrored that as well and soon they stood apart, too close for it to be quite casual but too far for Sam to not wish he could just go back into the embrace again.  
He smiled tiredly, and the tiredness wasn't of the physical kind: he was emotionally exhausted from all the thinking and wondering and digging and daring he'd done that day. It hadn't been an easy one for him either.

"So... I guess I'll just slink back to my room, then," he chuckled, realising how weird this visit had been.

Gadreel smiled, but the smile was somewhat melancholic; he hesitated and Sam made half a turn to leave, eyes still upon the older but feet pointing away from him now. Not quite towards the door either, no, but away and turning, turning -

"You could stay," the older said, cutting the movement before it turned laughably hesitant.

"Only if you want that," Sam pressed, and his mind was as caught between staying and leaving as his body language was.

The angel seemed at loss for a moment as he traced the room.  
"I've not yet made a home for myself here," he said then, "your presence would be of great comfort and more."

"And more?"

The green turned towards him again, sharp and clear even in what little light reached the room. Sam smiled teasingly although he wasn't sure if the tone was received by the older or not.

"It seems that I... miss you greatly when you are not right here by my side. Yet I still cannot quite believe what you told me earlier, even though I felt it as you spoke. It seems... like a dream, and I cannot help but fear that I will wake up somewhere much worse without you if I turn to rest now."

The smile on the younger toned down and he felt a certain concern inside him.  
"You're _free_ , Gadreel," he still reminded the older.

Gadreel nodded.  
"Yet I was imprisoned much longer," he spoke, "Sometimes I have difficulty trusting what I see and feel around me. Sometimes I fear this is all not real."

"I know how that feels."  
Sam cast a look back at the open door and bit his lip.  
"I'll stay. I didn't even want to go, I guess."

When he looked back the older was smiling again.  
"I appreciate that."  
The sentry took back a step and turned; he shed his shirt but hesitated with the jeans, and Sam expected it when he turned that lost look towards him.

"You can't sleep in those," Sam chuckled, taking off his own shirt and his jeans just the same as he spoke, "If you think I'm going to make you, well, you're wrong."  
He folded his clothes up and piled them with the other's on the chair, but he couldn't not look when Gadreel heeded his words and unbuckled his belt and stripped off the jeans: he had a beautiful body, and Sam had never seen him like this before. They met by the chair again, so close that Sam could feel the warmth of the sentry's body radiate over his own, and he couldn't help himself; his hand slipped over the older's neck and he kissed him, perhaps a little too eagerly as he felt Gadreel freeze again before he responded. The kiss was brief but it sent all the wrong signals down Sam's body - decisively he ignored all of it and rolled on the bed instead, choosing the side that was facing the wall rather than the one from which there was a direct path to the door. He didn't know if Gadreel would have found him much of an obstacle between himself and the only escape route but he wasn't up to taking any risks: he figured he'd already made the angel uncomfortable enough for one night and this was about the time to be mindful of his limitations. Gadreel followed him cautiously and settled on the bed looking like he expected orders to follow, and only then Sam realised they only had that one blanket: with a sigh he rolled right out, prompting an even more confused look from Gadreel.

"I'm gonna grab my stuff. Pillow, blanket, you know, the things I need. I'll be back in a minute."

He was back in less than a minute, carrying the pillow under his arm and the blanket over his shoulders like a thick cape. He circled around the bed on which Gadreel was still sitting and made himself comfortable on the other side before pulling the older down by his arm. He found Gadreel's hand and joined their fingers before snuggling up on his pillow, and when he looked up one last time, he found the older watching him with a content, happy expression his features. Gadreel was the first one to close his eyes, and Sam was grateful for that - he didn't think he could have fallen asleep knowing someone was staring at him the whole time, yet Gadreel didn't seem set on doing that. No, he looked like he was truly exhausted and ready to sleep, and if Sam wasn't entirely wrong about it, he seemed grateful about something too: what that something was, the younger could only take a guess at, but he figured it might have had something to do with his choice to leave this encounter as sexless as he'd promised earlier despite the aroused state the kiss had left his body with. He'd been honest about it, however; it wasn't on the list of things he wanted to do tonight. Tonight, he just wanted to be close, but not too close - close enough to feel, hear and smell, but not quite close enough to give his body over to the male he'd already once banished from within.

  


 

* * *

 

The fact that Gadreel had fallen asleep surprised him when he woke up some few hours later. Sam slept beside him still when he did, curled up and very close to his body but for once restful and without any sign pointing towards nightmares or disturbed sleep. The older closed his eyes again, realising that since the younger's phone had not went off yet, he was neither allowed out nor did he want to leave: he'd stay there as long as Sam needed him, for at last he'd been given a chance to help the other sleep instead of being forced to listen to his fears from the other side of the wall.  
His body and grace both felt as if filling with something warm as he rested there, feeling the proximity of the other's body and the utter trust that was offered to him in sleep - he felt honoured by it and shocked because of it, as the thought had never yet crossed his mind before that once he would wake up, the power balance would shift like this again. He felt a protector again, and the most important thing was that there was no danger that he could sense here but that which seemed to have been banished for the night, as Sam's aura remained stable and calm without a trace of fear, occasionally shifting with the shades of fire and sunrise to match whatever it was that his mind was conjuring up for him in place of the usual terrors. Gadreel waited - waiting was nothing to an angel, and whether he'd stay there an hour or a whole day made no difference to him. He listened to Sam's breathing and rested himself the best he could, mind turning to wonder about the day: of Charlie's visit, which he'd completely forgotten to anticipate yesterday before hearing it was delayed, and which had again been completely wiped from his mind by the events that followed, but also the thought of Sam stirring beside him and waking up right there by his side of his own free will. It seemed... unbelievable still that the younger would choose to put himself there, that he'd enjoy being this close to Gadreel, yet the angel couldn't feel a thing in the wrong about it; it seemed like the world's most natural thing, the way the younger slept beside him. The sentry had only ever felt at peace and content like this when he'd stood at the Gates, and he'd always thought that such a feeling had been reserved to times past and he'd never find an equal for it again. Yet there was no difference now, and the knowledge of it made him feel happy in a way that had grown within him ever since he'd been accepted here. He felt at home, suddenly, even in this bare room that he hadn't yet decorated - he remembered his earlier sentiment at asking Sam to help him with it, and he no longer doubted whether the younger would give him the time. It seemed now that Sam, for whatever reason, truly did wish to spend time with him; helping him transform this room into something warmer and more welcoming would likely come as no obligation to him.

With a hint of odd determination Gadreel brought his wing over Sam's body; it didn't offer much protection, as battered and scarred as it was and with the few remaining feathers still growing in, but he felt better that way. The feeling, although it wasn't physical, seemed to communicate to Sam's subconscious mind and his aura shifted towards a deeper shade - it seemed that having that extra protection made him feel calmer still, and although he still appeared to be dreaming, the dream wasn't as active anymore as it had been before Gadreel had shifted.

It took a little over two hours for the alarm to finally light up: the phone was hidden in the pocket of Sam's jeans, and the male groaned a little at the sound of it and the realisation that he'd have to get out of the bed to silence it. It wasn't true: Gadreel allowed it to ring for a while before he lifted his hand and cancelled the signal. Sam's expression turned from tired and cranky to surprised and then blank as he looked around at the strange surroundings, eyes barely opening to the day and with a print from the pillow's form over his right cheek. Then he flopped back on the pillow but the smile on him spoke of a change in his mood. He peered at Gadreel, fingers twisting the blanket in front of him and his smile stayed even, warm.  
"Morning," he muttered, but the last syllable broke as a yawn forced its way through.

"Good morning," Gadreel returned the sentiment.  
He felt anxious as he moved his hand over to meet Sam's but he longed for the touch and he was almost certain he had the permission to seek it: the younger closed his eyes again as their fingers joined, seemingly unphased by the initiation.

"I need breakfast," Sam said, his voice muffled and weary and not quite awake yet.

"For that, I fear that you may have to get up."

"Did you sleep?" the younger asked.

Gadreel nodded, even though the expression wasn't so well received in the pose he was in and with Sam's eyes closed still.  
"I did."

The hunter peered through one eye with a suspicious expression.  
"So you're not fully recovered yet."

"Which is why Castiel only took me in for a safe mission," Gadreel reminded, "I am not looking for a fight I cannot win, Sam."

His answer seemed to sate the younger's suspicions, as his expression relaxed and another yawn broke whatever had been in it before.  
"Okay. Yeah. Coffee."  
Instead, however, Sam brought his hand underneath Gadreel's blanket and kicked his way through to join him there: his own blanket slid off of his back and after some wriggling, they were both covered by the same one. The heat of the other's body so close to Gadreel's own was overwhelming, as there wasn't a part of them save for their hips that wasn't touching now. Sam buried his head underneath the older's and stayed there, still sleepy and apparently unwilling to change that at all.  
"I feel awful."

"You do not seem to... feel bad."

"No," Sam muttered, "but I should. I can't, but I should."  
He stirred and brushed a hand over Gadreel's face when he was far back enough to see the older's expression: they watched one another, Sam's expression locked and Gadreel's wary and concerned.  
"I'm glad that you're here," the hunter continued after a while, seemingly ending up at some opposite conclusion from the concerns he'd carried earlier.  
He shook his head and sighed, landing back on the bed but with his eyes now alert and examining Gadreel as thoughts raced quietly within him.

The sentry stayed silent; he couldn't follow the trail of the other's thoughts so he simply waited for Sam to explain. No explanation ever came, and instead Sam finally did climb up from the bed; he crossed Gadreel and hopped down from the bed's edge on the side closest to his clothes, pulling on his jeans first and then his shirt but leaving his socks sitting on the back of the chair.  
Gadreel sat up after him and got dressed with stiff limbs: he pulled on his socks and hung his hoodie over his shoulders but didn't close it, as doing so seemed inappropriate with Sam still looking so fresh out of bed. It appeared that staying with humans did rub some tendencies to angels as well; he felt socially obliged to fit in, and if it was common for the hour to be half-dressed, then he at least could attempt to look so even though there was no logical reason for him to even take the time to pull on the clothes without simply using his powers to do it instead. He considered it before realising this was the first time the thought had entered his mind, and even now he felt opposed to it, as it was both unnecessary and somehow against the expectations put upon him.  
He let out a small, defeated sigh and dropped the hoodie off entirely while Sam watched with a small smile.

"You know, Cas made the same show at first," he said, the smile turning crooked but affectionate.  
"Showed up in his dress shirt and pants without the coat or his belt, left out the socks next, wore Dean's jeans and shirts the month after. You don't have to, you know."

"It seems I might fit in better if I try," Gadreel replied quietly as if ashamed to admit the need for it at all.

Sam shrugged.  
"Nobody expects you to. Not really, anyway."

The older shook his head, decisive to abandon the shame over something he was not in control of.  
"I prefer it this way," he stated truthfully.

"So, you want coffee as well? To fit in, or just because."

"I would not argue against it. Thank you."

 

* * *

 

A part of Sam was relieved when they descended the stairs and Dean was already up. He'd felt too strongly about waking up next to the older - his breathing still felt restricted like something was constricting him and being able to slip out of that mode and into everyday life where he and this angel shared nothing beyond the obvious was a necessary change. It wasn't a bad feeling, not entirely, to love like he realised he did, but it was scary and he still wasn't certain if it was something that he could realistically live with; he knew how much he wanted it, but he wasn't sure if that was just for the ideal of what could be rather than the reality which mixed with their past and their flaws and the difficulties that would inevitably be there in time. On the other hand, he couldn't remember the last time he'd slept like this: he felt rejuvenated by the sleep like he hadn't done in months, which meant that for once he hadn't had nightmares. It could have been a coincidence, but Sam didn't really believe in those, especially not with himself: he was like a clockwork, something that functioned reliably, responded to things in a way that made sense. Now it seemed he'd responded to Gadreel's presence by the opposite of how he'd reacted to his resurrection: by trusting him to keep him safe through the night.

"Morning," Dean greeted him - or them - as they hit the ground floor.

"Coffee?" Sam asked in place for greetings; Dean peered at him with a mildly insulted and more than slightly amused expression.

"Yeah, yeah," he said and returned to whatever he was looking through on his laptop.  
"Charlie's on her way. I got a message around six in which she said she'd be here by nine, and apologised for probably waking me up, which she did."

"Well, nine seems... good," Sam replied, "She's coming alone?"

"By the sound of it," Dean replied with a shrug.

Gadreel followed Sam soundlessly to the kitchen, and Sam sensed tension in him as they settled there.  
"You'll be fine," the hunter huffed.  
He poured himself a cup and then another for Gadreel, who still stood by the doorway.

"Sam," the older finally spoke, and Sam lifted his head to show that he was listening, "We are to pretend nothing has changed, if I am not mistaken?"

"Yeah, I guess. I mean, we're not sure."

Gadreel nodded uncertainly.  
"Does this not break against your rules about honesty and open communication?" he asked then as if afraid to question the younger.

"It doesn't. Not really. I mean, of course this matters, even strategically speaking - but now's not the time to bring it up. We have to figure it out for ourselves first. It's no one's business yet, trust me."  
The younger handed Gadreel his cup and their eyes met; Sam felt a smile on him that Gadreel mirrored hesitantly.

"You seemed to sleep well," the older noted and Sam nodded.

"I think I did, yeah. Thanks for hosting me for the night," the hunter chuckled and brought his cup to his lips, "Worried about meeting Charlie still?"

"Somewhat. I suppose I will live, however."

Sam nodded again.  
"I'm pretty sure you will," he said, "Come. I've ignored my brother long enough."

They returned to Dean and settled to the table; Sam guided Gadreel over a chair's length, having already suspected he'd choose to instinctively isolate himself from the two others by seating himself within a polite distance. Instead he now sat next to Sam, seeming slightly uncomfortable with it but settling to it regardless, perhaps simply because it would have seemed strange to fight it and choose the chair further away after Sam had already brought him to one - Dean watched them curiously over the laptop's screen before finally slamming it down.

"Man, I just want to crawl back to bed," the older brother opened, stretched his neck and grimaced when it popped.

"Where's Cas, anyway?" Sam asked him in turn, finding the lack of the seraph's presence strange.

Dean shrugged.  
"Went out with a bunch of wheat that the poor guy was probably made to pay for at some point. I guess he's hanging it up some tree right about now, for the birds or whatever. I don't know, man, the better I know him the stranger he gets and I've just stopped questioning it."

The younger brother let out a small laugh that he soon drowned into his coffee: Gadreel had a smile on him but he stayed quiet still.

"How about you?" the older hunter asked, casting a look in Gadreel's direction - to Sam's eyes he looked genuinely curious, and he had to admit he was surprised that after the talk they'd had Dean was really trying to change his attitude.  
"Bird feeding sound like your thing?"

The sentry glanced at him with a somewhat concerned expression, appearing uncertain of whether Dean's question held some subliminal meaning or a test. Sam waited, sipping his coffee and watching the two of them with curiosity.

"I... have never fed birds," the oldest finally replied as carefully as ever.

Dean chuckled, shook his head and turned to watch the stairway. To Sam, he seemed as cheerful as he sounded: there wasn't any reservation or hidden aggression in his body language. He felt Gadreel looking at him, seeking reassurance or otherwise; he granted him a small smile and shook his head to signal him that everything was alright and that he shouldn't bother himself with it too much.

"I think I'm gonna grab more coffee for myself, if you left any in there," Dean finally broke the silence and looked back at Sam.

"Help yourself," the younger dismissed him and reached for the laptop: he spun it around on the table and opened it, gaining a disapproving look from the older but no strict order to give it back, so Sam didn't.

 

* * *

 

 

The bunker was filled with a certain expecting buzz in expectation of Charlie's arrival. Sam was caught up in it, and at times he worried it was because he was escaping what he'd started the day before, but every time such a thought entered his mind, he decisively ignored it and returned to existing as if nothing else but the task at hand mattered. After breakfast, he brought Gadreel back into the study.  
"You can stay here," he announced, kneeling between the still scattered files and brushing a hand through them.

Gadreel moved beside him and sat on his knees amongst the mess - the male nodded.  
"And the visit?" he asked.

"It's better if I explain first," Sam said, "and that you greet her when it's done. I'll bring her here, if that's alright with you."

Gadreel nodded again, although the gesture was hesitant and worrying. Sam found his hand from the angel's shoulder, the touch gentler than what he would have usually used to just show compassion, and the smile on his lips felt softer as well as if echoing that feeling.  
"Keep your mind at work," he continued in a quiet voice, "like nothing else matters. Forget about her and forget about your past. Let me handle it. This is your job, and I know it's dull and repetitive and not particularly exciting but go at it like our lives depend on it. It'll help you."

"I understand. Sam - would you do me a favour?"

Sam nodded.  
"Anything."

"If you are to talk with her," Gadreel spoke a little hesitantly, "I would - I do not wish to do it myself, but I would rather that we were honest with her. She deserves to know. I merely... do not wish to take the credit for it, for - her life."

Sam watched him for a moment before nodding again, this time seriously. He pulled up from the floor and let out a small sigh, casting a look towards the doorway. His heart raced and warmth burned at his cheeks again, and he was dizzy in a way that should have been driven away by a plate full of bacon and eggs, but it seemed like Gadreel undid whatever balance he had within him in more ways than he could bother to count.  
"It's still a few hours until then."

The sentry made a sound of agreement: his hands were already full of paperwork, and Sam felt like that was his cue. He moved away from the room and lightness spread into his limbs as he walked away although a distinctive small part of him would have wanted to stay instead. With a shiver he fell back into his seat, eyes greeting Dean all over again.

"Put the intern back to work, right?" the older asked him and Sam nodded promptly.  
"To keep him safe from Charlie?"

"To keep him safe from Charlie, yeah. Figured it's better if I try to explain to her first."

"Well," Dean continued, lowering his gaze back to whatever was on the tablet he was scrolling down on, "it won't be too hard. She doesn't know much about him."

Sam nodded.  
"I'll try to tell her enough."

"Enough of the good or the bad or both?" Dean asked without ever looking at Sam.

"Both, I suppose. There's no use hiding what she'll figure out eventually anyway."

"So you're prepared to tell her about what he did to you?"  
Now Dean's eyes were back upon him and it was Sam's turn to avoid the glance. He shrugged, patting away a few breadcrumbs from the table and wiping them on the floor just to distract himself from the conversation.

"If I have to," he said then.

"Mm-mm."


	13. Friends and Family

 

* * *

  
Her presence was like sunlight when she climbed out of the car and charged across the garage to jump and cling to Dean. Sam watched them with a grin and a quiet laughter only to have her cling to him just as violently the very moment she released Dean: her hold was tight, almost bone-crushingly so, and the happiness that flooded out of her could have dimmed the lights in the ceiling. Once Sam was free again, she caught Castiel's hands and looked him in the eye, appearing speechless but with a wide smile on her face, head slightly lowered and eyes peering from under her brows playfully - the seraph responded by a shy smile and a greeting, only to be rewarded with a tight hug.

"Come on, Charlie, let the poor guy go," Dean chuckled, skipping past Sam to pat her on the back, "Let's get to work."

They walked back upstairs, and for once the corridor echoed with loud conversation and laughter: it spread that same light from the garage to the rest of the bunker and it felt like the air there became lighter and easier to breathe. Sam walked beside Dean, and Charlie led them on like this was her mansion: Castiel kept their backs but occasionally commented to the ongoing catching up with some relevant detail of his own life, that Sam assumed was much more exciting and multifaceted than he was letting on.

They arrived in the library and poured through it towards the map in the hallway: Sam had brought up the most well-stacked tool box the bunker had and he'd laid it next to the table so that everything Charlie would need would be there. Dean patted him on the back next, gave him a thumbs up and dragged Castiel out of the conversation with him.  
"We're gonna go back to cooking, you know where to find us if you need us, Charlie," he stated, ruffling his hand through the younger's hair, "Talk to you over dinner."

"I'll keep busy," Charlie promised.  
She landed on the floor and cast a look towards Sam.  
"Are you going to leave me, too?" she asked.

"Nah," Sam replied with a chuckle, "There's actually something I need to talk to you about, but more on that in a minute - how are you, really?"

Charlie snapped the tool box open with a smile on her lips and picked out a screwdriver, then another, and brought them over her colourful skirt; Sam watched her with a crooked smile wondering if he'd ever before seen her in a skirt, and the answer was a distinctive no. She had a black clip in her hair, to make it even stranger - she'd never been one for the look, but at least the ragged Star Wars-shirt dominating the view still made her look like herself.  
"I'm - happy?" she replied with a dreamy look.  
"I have some news for you, too, but I'm sparing them for a better moment."

"An announcement?" Sam chuckled, sitting down on the tool box's other side, ready to hand her whatever she needed once she'd start with the table.

"Yeah, you could call it that. Things are good. Things are really, really good, even if the weather wasn't when I got here, really. So, how about you? You were quiet when we got here."

"Not - quiet, just listening," Sam laughed, gaining a stern look from the younger, "I'm - good, I guess, nothing's actively getting me killed."

"Well, that's a start," Charlie noted with a grimace.  
"You look like something was."

"Thanks."

"Don't worry, if we ignore the grey in your hair, you're still hot stuff - for a guy," she said with a smile and shook her head.  
"So, you're gonna help me with this? We have to dismantle the protection manually and I need to open the panel for that. Once I'm done with that I'll have to see if I can access the code on the BC tech; you told me you want this thing to pick up on stuff before it happens, right? The thing with magic is that it gathers before it's used, the spellwork has to be done and everything, so that buys us some time. It's also somewhat - well, it's magic, I can basically guarantee it gives a signal before anyone so much as thinks of using it. But I don't know how I can tune the system to pick up only certain types of magic beforehand, when we don't even have a clue what the magic is. If I can find the log on what it's picked up before, that might help."

"I have faith in you," Sam chuckled and slid closer to the table under which Charlie had just disappeared, "You're still the only one who really gets this system. I keep trying but -"

"Don't! Don't try, Sam, I know you're good but this - this is _my_ _baby_. If you break it, it'll break me."

"Alright, alright," the older laughed, leaning his back to the table's leg, "I haven't gone inside it if you're worried about that."

"God, that sounds so wrong. Never go inside my baby."

"You're starting to sound like Dean," Sam noted, "That's concerning."

"Look, just don't touch people's babies and we're good."

"Got it."

There was a silence for a moment during which Sam's ears tuned to the sound of the panel clanging against its base and the screwdriver scratching about the screws Charlie was undoing to access the system's manual controls. He closed his eyes and found himself still smiling even though he realised this was the moment he was to tell the younger about Gadreel; he didn't know exactly where to start, so he went with the obvious.  
"So, about that thing I wanted to talk to you about," he started and for a brief moment Charlie stopped working.

"Is it bad?" she asked, voice concerned, timid.

"No, it's - not at all. Just that we have a fourth - well, fifth, now - in the bunker with us and I needed to explain it before I can introduce you."

"Huh. Who's he?"

Sam grimaced. He looked at the ceiling and the bright lights shining into the room from there, the cement at the joints where the walls attached to the level above them and from there his eyes moved to the orange tiling on the walls and eventually the library.  
"Gadreel."

Charlie stopped again: the panel flew open with a sharp sound and Sam could hear her hiss and jump in surprise, as if she hadn't expected the sound after removing the last screw.  
"Isn't that -"

"The angel who killed the prophet, yeah, that's - the same guy, which is why I'm talking to you now."

"Okay."

"Yeah. The thing is, Gadreel - he used to be our ally, sort of; Dean made a deal with him, he'd help me heal and Dean would keep him safe. But Metatron got to him and things weren't too good with us in general, so it was... I guess it was easy to get into his head and make him think he had no choice. So Metatron ordered Kevin's death as a price for taking Gadreel in; how much do you know of the lore?"

"Angelic? I know that Gadreel was the guard in Eden, the one that let Lucifer through."

"Yeah, well, that's true. He did."

"Sounds like a trustworthy guy overall."

Sam sighed, then chuckled; he leaned his head to his knee and breathed.  
"He's better than he sounds, really. So - you can figure that he wasn't very popular with the angels. Metatron knew how to use that against him, and when Dean called the pact off, Gadreel chose the way out that he could see. Which... is what you know of him."

"And you don't - blame him?"

"I blame him," Sam uttered, raising his head again, "but you've got to understand I also blame myself, and that I get that Metatron could get in the head of anyone, he didn't need the opportunity he had to mess with Gadreel to be succesful. So in the bigger picture... I guess I don't really blame him as much as I could. I know what went on with him and I can - I get it."

"You know, Dean blames himself for Kevin a lot, too."

Sam grimaced.  
"Yeah, I know."  
His words were followed by a heavy, tense silence although Charlie was working on disabling the system now; the sound of her fingertips typing in codes from a rugged piece of paper she'd drawn out of her bag was loud in that silence, and so was the sound of the machine whirring quietly around them.  
"So, anyway," Sam finally continued, "you know enough of Metatron to know that he's a grade A certified dick, so you can figure out what happened to Gadreel under him. The thing is, before we could take the shot at freeing Heaven from under Metatron, Gadreel turned on him and came back to us. He'd seen enough, I guess. He's an old school angel with a pretty firmly set code of morals; protecting humans comes first to him, which is something you can't say for most angels. And Metatron couldn't care less, not about humans and not about other angels, so I guess it's a miracle they got along that far. Gadreel helped us with Heaven, and - he died for that cause."

"Why am I so unsurprised at hearing that you have a dead angel in your bunker?" Charlie sighed.  
By the sound of it she was already closing the panel; her fingers picked up a screw from the floor and she placed it back in its hole.  
"So, I guess that's related to what I'm doing here."

Sam nodded although the younger likely couldn't see it.  
"He's not the only one."  
He kept quiet for a moment more until Charlie had closed the panel with that one screw and laid his hand over the rest before she could continue.  
"I promised I'd formally introduce you when I've told you everything," he noted, "He's going to be eating with us anyway so it'll be less awkward if you're not complete strangers."

"Right."  
There was nervousness in Charlie's voice; Sam braced himself, pushed aside the doubt in his mind and drew in a deep breath.

"There's one more thing I think you should know," he said then, giving in to the fact that when he'd be done with this, Charlie would likely be left with a lot more questions than he'd managed to give her thus far.   
But not only did she deserve the truth, it might also help her look at Gadreel different, and Sam was set on making the meeting as positive as he could; there was a lot to say about Gadreel that he couldn't give to Charlie, but there was one thing that he could give, even if it compromised his own comfort in what he was implying.  
"He was with us when the Wicked Witch got out," he continued.

"Huh?" Charlie let out.

Sam didn't look at her.  
"Yeah. So... when you were knocked out..."

"Dean's words. Dorothy told me I died. I'm inclined to believe the one girl who never lied to me. Well, once, but - that's not relevant."

A small smile crossed Sam's lips and he raised a hand to brush his hair back.  
"Yeah, well, Dorothy's right, I guess. And Gadreel is the reason you're still breathing."

"You mean -"

"I mean that he resurrected you. Dean's request, but he did. That's the truth and - I thought you had the right to know. He's not all bad. He did a lot of good, too. He saved Cas as well. I'm... not supposed to know any of this, but if you ask Dean, he'll tell you the same thing; he won't like it, but he will."

Charlie turned her head down and for a moment she did nothing but breathed, posture slouched and teeth nipping at her lip nervously.  
"Well," she finally said with a tired huff, "It's kept me up at night, what happened to me, what brought me back to life."

"Yeah."

"So it was him."

"Yeah."

"And he saved you, too?" Charlie asked, turning to look at Sam.

Sam answered the gaze and nodded heavily.  
"He did."

"I guess I see how that all would tilt the scale to his favour."

The older felt a grimace tickling at the corners of his mouth but he killed it and nodded instead.  
"It was a crazy year for all of us," he said instead and pulled himself up on his feet.  
He offered a hand to Charlie and pulled her up as well.  
"He's not half as scary as you'd think."

The younger sighed dramatically.  
"Angels are always kind of freaky, Sam, not to argue, but..."

The hunter laughed.  
"I guess I'm just used to it."

 

* * *

 

Gadreel's grace grew alert to the sound of footsteps before the body picked those sounds up; nervousness charged into him and he hesitated at pushing in the last of the folders, as it would now leave him with nothing but what was to happen next. He didn't have a choice, however, and the folder ended up neatly between those he'd reorganized from even the previous organization during the past half an hour, if only to delay the inevitable. He stood up just as hesitantly and took a step to the side from the bookcase only to find himself out of place no matter where he went: he was certain he looked like he'd been caught in the act of something when Sam finally peeked past the doorway at him. He spared a smile for the younger, a lost one but a smile still, and Sam nodded at him briefly before turning and motioning the visitor in.

"Gadreel, hey. This - this is Charlie. You've met her before."

"I remember," the older agreed, eyes landing upon the colourful soul of the young woman.  
He watched her for a moment wondering if Charlie knew, but Sam's phrasing made it seem like she did; it was a relief to know that he wouldn't have to recount those events, as there were inevitably details that he wouldn't know how to present the way that Sam, or Dean for that matter, wanted them known.

"And Charlie, this - is Gadreel."

"Hey," Charlie said in turn, "good to meet you, uh, formally, I guess."

Gadreel nodded.  
"I agree," he said warmly.

"The food's probably prepared by now, so, uh, you could come with us if you're done with the files."

Gadreel nodded again.  
"My work here is finished," he said with a hint of a smile, "Lead the way."

 

* * *

 

They ate at noon: afterwards Gadreel slipped out from the table and wandered back to the study, as it had become something of a safe place for him, somewhere he knew he was allowed to be and where he could return to without raising anyone's suspicions. There was nothing for him to do there, however, or at least nothing he would have known to look for, so he turned back and headed for his own room instead. As he walked up the stairs he could hear the others laughing, and the sound made him smile even though he felt isolated on his own. He wasn't sure what he wanted - staying with them would have felt like intruding, but going off alone was perhaps even worse, yet he no longer knew how to return. With a sigh he slipped into his bedroom and sat on the bed, closed his eyes and drew in the air that had finally started smelling homely and safe to him. He slid his palms over the bed and found the edge of Sam's blanket, and he realised he hadn't remembered it being there but rather had expected it had disappeared like a memory from the night before. As he turned back and looked at the bundled-up shape and the pillow that was as used-looking as the blankets were he realised he missed the high of yesterday's, the excitement and fear that had flooded him like it was a river that he was trapped in the flow of, unable to swim and a little too eager to drown. He missed the way Sam smelled, the warmth of his body and the taste of his lips, but more than anything he missed the fire of his soul, the brightness of him mixing with Gadreel's own dulled glow and bringing life back into him, lighting even the scars that dimmed his shine and turned him into a shadow in comparison to any other angel.

Truth was, he was an ugly thing to look at. He was scarred behind his mask, a broken, ruined creature whose halo only shone with the brightness that he instinctively granted it whenever impression was important. He hid behind that false light to hide his wounds and old injuries, the fact that feathers no longer grew like they were supposed to over his bent wings, and he was nothing - nothing - next to the brilliance of Sam Winchester.

He leaned back and fell into the bed, and the mattress and the blankets greeted him and welcomed him in: a cloud of scents rose from them and covered him and he closed his eyes to enjoy it. His own was in there and he recognised it and for the first time truly associated it with himself although he was still not used to having a human scent, and sensing it mix with Sam's made his heart race and a smile rise upon his lips. The day had treated him better than he'd feared, but it was no match for the one that had passed before. Only now he realised that yesterday had been the first day perhaps since his days as the sentry of Eden that he'd felt truly a part of something - accepted. But it alone didn't explain the way he felt at the memory of him and Sam together, and it was that memory in particular which made him wish he could drown into their scents and cover himself in this bed and never come out again but rather linger forever in what had been. It felt so bittersweet, and yet so unbelievable, that someone would treat him or see him like Sam had seen him the night before - he'd felt wanted under the man's lips and touches, and needed in a way he'd never felt before. There was still a longing inside him to feel more of that and even to learn to expect it, although he knew he'd never grow accustomed to it. Perhaps he'd learn to feel as if he deserved it, however; maybe Sam wanted to teach him that. He'd woken up beside Gadreel seemingly happy about it, and only that fact gave Gadreel reassurance that what had happened wasn't a dream he'd had in the hours he'd slept, or some kind of a hallucination or a game played on him. Sam was genuine; his happiness had been, too.

The sound of footsteps from the corridor cut off the sentry's thoughts. He rose back up to sit on the bed and waited for them to pass, but instead he saw the glow of another's grace shine from the doorway and heard a knock on the door.  
Instinctively Gadreel stood up to greet the younger before calling him in, and although Castiel was dressed casually and had only moments earlier dined with the humans as if he was one of them, he now greeted Gadreel in turn as an angel. He stood straight and even though his expression was warm and retained something profoundly human in it, he still stood an angel in a higher position than Gadreel and the sentry stepped aside to give him the space he deserved.

"This is... your bedroom?" Castiel asked him, stepping inside and casting a look about the empty walls and then stopping to examine the bed with two sets of covers.

Hesitantly Gadreel nodded, realising he'd revealed something he hadn't intended by allowing Castiel in. He was almost certain the longer look Castiel had given the bed was because he'd known to count the evidence together, but he made no note of it as he turned back to Gadreel and smiled.  
"I'm glad you're settling in."

"I've been thinking of how to make it more my own," Gadreel admitted, somewhat clumsily heading the discussion as far from the bed as he could, "yet I seem to have no imagination when it comes to matters of decoration."

Castiel huffed warmly.  
"I have none, either," he admitted, "I've learned, however. It is difficult to personalize something when you lack understanding of your concept of self, and such is not for angels. You seemed to escape our company, Gadreel."

The change of subject embarrassed the older but he nodded regardless.  
"I felt uneasy in it; I do not know how to keep company, and I felt as if I was intruding."

"If it helps, no one expected anything of you. The only way to learn is to observe," Castiel noted, and it seemed to come a lesson from the officer that he was to Gadreel who was more inexperienced and still learning

The older nodded carefully.  
"Have you... have you learned?" he asked.

Castiel shrugged; it was a definitely human gesture, combined with the careless tilt of his head.  
"I like to think that I have," he said with a crooked smile before turning another examining look now at Gadreel instead.  
"Would you prefer to be left alone? I only came to see if you were, well, I was concerned you might feel even worse alone than you did downstairs."

Gadreel was about to argue the contrary, but he caught himself from the lie before it passed his lips. He shook his head quietly.  
"I am beginning to feel accepted here," he said then, "Almost... welcome. Yet I struggle with the concept, as if I no longer even know how to be a part of a whole. For an angel... that must mean I am broken beyond what I thought possible."  
There was shame in his voice and he was surprised to hear himself voice it, yet Castiel shook his head and laid a hand over his shoulder.

"You are not broken," the younger spoke with a softer smile on him now, "You just haven't found your place yet. It takes a while."

"Did you struggle as much as I do?"

"Sometimes it felt like I would never belong anywhere," Castiel admitted, "Sometimes I felt as if I didn't even deserve to - that I was unfit wherever I went and that that was to be my fate, and rightfully so. I know better now. I hope you will find your place the same."

Gadreel nodded slowly.  
"I hope so too, brother."

Castiel nodded in turn.  
"I am glad that you do," he said, still smiling, "Now - would you like to come back downstairs with me, or would you rather stay here?"

The older cast a look around him and considered for a moment. The conclusion surprised him.  
"Perhaps I'd rather follow you back," he replied timidly, "if what you said is true and no one expects much of me."

"No," Castiel said in a relieved voice, "no one expects anything of you, but your company is definitely preferred."

Gadreel dared to smile a little as he nodded.  
"Then I will come with you," he said.

 

* * *

 

Sam noticed a change in Gadreel the further the evening progressed. Although he'd seemed uneasy at best until then, he was starting to turn more and more relaxed after the meal and even broke smiles for the rest - yet it seemed that they both suffered equally from an inability to keep their eyes off from one another, as they kept catching themselves from eye contact even when there was no reason for them whatsoever to have one and even less to hold one for as long as they always did. Something had changed about Castiel just the same: he seemed to keep an eye on them and appeared almost careful about it, like he was making sure everything was alright between them, or as if he'd suddenly lost his trust in Gadreel when it came to Sam's presence. So it didn't surprise Sam when the angel hopped up and followed him as he went to brew another pot of coffee for the group as Charlie announced she was about to resume work on the map's system and could use a cup to help her along.  
At first they walked side by side as if by accident, but once no one else was around and the kitchen's door closed behind them, Sam finally spun around to face Castiel.

"What?" he asked with a tone of concern and irritated amusement - Castiel tilted his head embarrassedly and spread his hands.

"I'm concerned, that's all," the seraph replied, turning an apologetic look at the younger.

Sam sighed, turned around again and went for the coffee and the filters. He kept his eyes on Castiel as he fit the latter inside and started filling it - some ground coffee spilled on the counter but he brushed it aside still without looking.  
"So tell me," he pushed, "You know I'm going to listen, right?"

"I - went upstairs looking for Gadreel earlier," Castiel started.  
His voice was as apologetic as his look still remained, but he leaned back on the counter and let out a sigh that seemed to relax him or at least it turned his aura more submissive, as if he was setting his mind to the task at hand.  
"He was in his bedroom, and I saw - I couldn't help noticing that..."

"My stuff was there, right."

Castiel nodded hesitantly.  
"I just want to make sure you are alright, Sam."

"I'm fine," Sam replied.  
He pushed the coffee maker on and sighed deeply, rubbed his face with both hands and leaned to the counter like Castiel was doing.  
"I kept having nightmares."

The older wasn't swallowing it, but he nodded politely regardless.  
"So... did it help? Going to him?" he asked Sam and Sam nodded.

"Yeah. I slept okay."  
He smiled and shook his head.  
"Almost scary, really. I haven't slept that well in ages, actually."

"I am glad you got some rest," Castiel replied with a smile, but he still seemed concerned.

"I know what you're thinking," Sam said, contesting that concern with a look directly into the blue of the older's eyes, "That I'm crawling right back to the source of this. That I'm a mess and I'm making it worse. But I'm not so sure. For once, I feel - almost complete again."

"Did forgiveness do that, or is there something more to this?" the older asked with usual insight into the hunter's mind.

Sam shrugged.  
"It's not that simple," he replied.  
"It's not really something I want to talk about at this stage."

Castiel nodded.  
"I trust your judgement, as always," he said then, "but I'm letting you know that if you need an ear, I'm ready to listen."

"Thanks, Cas. Really. But I'm fine."

The seraph examined him for a while before smiling tiredly.  
"I'm happy to hear that," he said and reached a hand to lay on Sam's shoulder.  
Sam felt him grip it tight before allowing his hand to finally slide down and a small smile played on the younger's lips in response to the gesture.

"So... can you keep this from Dean?" he asked in turn.

Castiel nodded.  
"I wouldn't know what to tell him," he said, "You have not explained much to me. I could tell him what I saw but I believe that is your business and Gadreel's, not mine or his, not yet."

"Yeah. I promise I'll let you in on it once I'm, you know, once I've figured it out myself."

Castiel nodded again.  
"He cares about you," he said then, "I speak of Gadreel. He respects you."

Sam couldn't help the smile.  
"I know."

"I wasn't expecting this, but... if it is your choice, I can't argue with it."

"You're the only one who knows what I've - what I go through, so I get it, I do. I worried about the same thing, trust me. That maybe I'm just, you know, maybe I don't know what's best for me and believe me I know I don't always do. This, though? The only thing I'm scared about is losing him. And I think that's a good sign."

A small smile lingered upon Castiel's lips as he stayed silent - it took him a while to relax and look away.  
"I will do my best to keep him safe when I can," he promised.  
"He is my brother, after all. It is the least that I can do after what he did for me years ago."

Sam nodded.  
"Thanks, Cas."  
He fell quiet as well and turned to watch the coffee drip into the pot; the scent of it lingered heavy in the air although he wasn't sure if he could fit another cup in himself without burning a hole through his stomach.  
"Can I talk to you about something right now?" he asked then, eyes never lifting from the drops dripping down from the filter and into the pot.

"Anything, always, as you know," Castiel promised, his tone curious.

"About fearing I lose him. That's - you know how... my relationships tend to end, right? With someone dead."

The older nodded slowly.  
"It won't happen again," he promised, although Sam heard the due hesitation in his voice, "You are not the cause of it."

"I'm a hunter. He's an angel. The drop rate for both is... it's too high, Cas."  
Sam finally turned his eyes back towards Castiel and he smiled crookedly without the slightest happiness hidden in the weary look.  
"I know you've had to worry about that, too. So I fear that if I got there, it'll just repeat itself again. That I'm cursing him somehow."

"You are not a curse, Sam," Castiel reminded him quietly, "nor do you carry one."

"So it's all just bad luck?"

"I understand why you're afraid. But that's the risk you have to take, isn't it?"

Sam nodded hesitantly.  
"I guess."  
He chuckled quietly and wiped his palms to the sides of his jeans.  
"You know what else gets me?"

The older tilted his head questioningly, and even though he was wearing a crumpled flannel he still managed to look like the angel he was beneath the layer of humanity and domesticity. Sam chuckled and stepped away from the counter, walking off to fill up the dishwasher while waiting.

"That Dean decided to skip the kitchenwork today," he sighed, prompting Castiel to follow his lead.  
He laughed as he wiped his wrist across his forehead, afraid of smearing sauce and potato stains on his face if he'd use another part of his hand.  
"Thanks, man. For everything," he added then.

The seraph looked at him and smiled with a dirty glass in one hand and a plate in the other.  
"Thank you for your honesty and patience," he said in turn, "even when I overstep my boundaries."

"You didn't. Being concerned is okay. I know I'm not - the least concerning person around here, and I appreciate it that you care, I really do. But maybe even more than that I appreciate it that you know when you're crossing a line, Cas, and you know that I can handle myself. Dean... Dean doesn't always seem to."

"Which is why I'm here, I suppose. For you and him both."


	14. Safety Steps

* * *

 

Sam climbed up the stairs feeling tired but happy: the time was past midnight and although he could still hear Dean and Charlie talking downstairs he was more than ready to retreat from company. Moreover, he had other concerns - things that kept invading his thoughts whether or not he was pursuing them. So, under the guise of sleep he headed towards his bedroom only to skip it and knock on the door next to it instead. For once, it was closed, and for a moment Sam wondered whether Gadreel was in there at all, but the angel's voice soon invited him in and as he pushed the door open he found the older seated on the bed on crossed legs and with his bare feet poking out from underneath him.  
"Can I bother you?" Sam asked with a crooked smile, eyes tracing the sight of the older's toes and then the small smile on his face.

Gadreel nodded.  
"Of course. I... hoped that you might come," he admitted and Sam let out a small chuckle at the words.

"Cas caught up to us today," he noted, "Which means that we're not being half as inconspicuous as we should be, and I'm worried that Dean will figure it out soon enough as well."

Gadreel nodded.  
"I was afraid that he noticed when he came here earlier. I did not think of it before it was already too late."

Sam shook his head; he landed on the bed and rolled on his back beside Gadreel, reached out a hand and brought it over the older's arm. He let his fingers slide down the fabric of the sleeve and felt the warmth that radiated through it. The older smiled warmly at the touch and as Sam closed his eyes he felt Gadreel's hand land over his.

"I mean," he started again, "I'm not ashamed of what's going on with us. That's not what this is about. I just wish we had the privacy to figure us out first before the whole world knows."

There was a short silence between them but there was nothing awkward about it; Sam moved his hand down the male's arm and then up again and Gadreel's hand followed his, its soft warm covering him gently. A yawn forced itself through although Sam fought it at first - he didn't bother hiding it even though he could feel Gadreel still watching him.

"What... exactly is it that is 'going on' with us?" the sentry finally asked.

"I don't know yet, exactly."

The other let out a small sound as he nodded and Sam opened his eyes to the white ceiling again. He rolled around and sat up facing Gadreel, and without thinking about it much he leaned forwards to kiss him again. He'd missed the feeling the whole day and all the poking and prodding about the subject had only made him want it more.

"I guess we'll find out eventually," he muttered against the older's lips, feeling the huff that came in response hit the tip of his tongue before he drowned it out in a continuation of the kiss that he'd barely started before speaking.

The warmth of the other's body so close was inviting: more than just a part of Sam longed to climb back onto his lap and perhaps push him on the bed, let his instincts take over and head down from his mouth, kiss the stubble on his jaw and the textured skin on his neck, find where his sensitive areas were, but he held back for now. There was a certain sensuality to the way Gadreel was responding to him, the manner his hands sought their place upon Sam's body almost as if he was still afraid to touch, and in the way his lips learned the rhythm of the kiss. It was something that Sam wanted to preserve, or at least feel as long as he could until he'd remember it even if it did disappear in time. It surprised him to feel a smile on the older, and even more when it was him who made the move this time: Gadreel laid his palm over the bed and brought his body over Sam's, one hand reaching up to caress his face as the kiss went on without breaking. The younger let out another quiet laughter into it and held onto the other's shirt with both hands as he brought him down over himself, his back hitting the bed and a nervous excitement landing within him at the same impact. If there was a trust exercise for them, this was it.

"Could you -"

"Yes?"

The kiss broke to the words and both of them hesitated: Sam held the angel down when he attempted to escapeby clinging to the front of his shirt, but the courage to finish his sentence didn't come easy to him. He swallowed and brought his hand through Gadreel's short hair; the reading light reflected from it and turned it golden, as if illuminating a copper colour within it that under different lighting was hidden by the overtones. His eyes seemed more defined as well, the green of them soaking up colour from the light - without realising he was doing so the younger slid his palm over the man's cheek and brought him back down until their noses were touching and they'd both closed their eyes.

"Could you kiss me on my neck?" he finally managed to breathe out.  
Gadreel nodded; Sam wanted to contest how he was taking this for an order, but he couldn't get a sound out from anticipation. His skin tingled from the very presence of the other so close by him but he didn't receive a kiss or any touch at all - he shifted in anticipation, hand sliding down the other's neck and a small muffled sound escaped him before he realised that was exactly what the older seemed to have waited for, as a pleased little sound pushed through that Sam would have complained about if it wasn't immediately followed by the male's lips upon his neck. The touch alone took his breath away and he felt his body respond to it without mercy; his hips lifted from the bed and pressed softly against the body above him, and although it shocked him just the same he realised that he was more than happy to feel the male's hips mirror that movement into him. A breathless laugh finally escaped him and he ended it with a short gasp, one hand charging into the older's hair and the other to the small of his back as his hips lifted again and this time stayed pressed into the angel's body.  
The kiss wasn't rough or even anything like Gadreel had given his mouth - this was a gentle, affectionate kiss that lingered just long enough to turn the younger on, and Sam was certain that Gadreel knew all about that side-effect although it appeared as if it wasn't his primary goal.

"You're good. You - really _are_ good."

"I've learned much this week," the angel replied carefully in a low voice that Sam could feel against his chest, "Following my instinct is amongst those things, though I am still learning. You seem... pleased."

"Mm."  
Sam's fingers brushed the older's hair back and forth; he closed his eyes and again and relaxed his body into the mattress below them, concentrating on the feel of the angel beside him. He felt Gadreel adjust as well: the male moved to his side and brought an arm around his body, head pushing timidly to beg more of the affection that Sam was granting him although the younger hadn't been about to withdraw his hand yet.  
"Quite a day," the hunter finally spoke, eyes opening to the ceiling and turning soon to meet Gadreel's; he felt as if the change in subject was welcome for them both, as the area they treaded was foreign to both.

The angel watched him for a moment before nodding.  
"It seems you were right," he noted, "about Charlie - she does not seem as reserved about me as I feared."

"She's good at reading people. I think she saw that you were at least as terrified as she was about the meeting, and it eased her into it. Gadreel, I... I think we need to talk about this."

Gadreel nodded.  
"You wish to stay again?" he asked, and Sam couldn't help the smile.

"I'd like to. I would. But I just want to know if it's alright with you - really, _actually_ alright with you. I've done this before, I've been through a few relationships and I know, approximately, what to expect. You've barely been back to life for five days now. There's so much going on with you, and now I'm pushing this on you as well. We can tone it down for a while if you need the time. I'm not going anywhere, and - and I hope you're not going anywhere either. So we're not in a hurry. We can keep this what it is and concentrate on other things first, if that's what you need."

Sam watched the expression on the older, but there wasn't much to see; Gadreel turned to watch the ceiling like he'd done a moment ago and he thought for a while in quiet. Sam was glad about it - he was glad to know that the male was taking his time to consider Sam's words and, he hoped, what he wanted as well. It didn't matter much to Sam: he likely needed a timeout for himself as well, so regardless of what Gadreel would say, he'd lay low the next day or so, or at least he'd _try_ to. It was easier in the night when nothing needed to make sense and he was tired and excuses sounded much better in his ears, but waking up was different. He'd loved it this morning, there was no question about it: he'd loved finding that warmth next to him, and there was nothing like having another's scent surround him in his first waking moments, a welcome scent that reminded him he was held by someone he'd let close before. But the day itself was harder, the whole everyday hurdle of it, and facing Dean and facing Castiel was something that Sam didn't know if he coped with so well. He would have needed time alone with the sentry to really figure them out, yet it seemed, what with the angels coming back to life and the looming possibility of one or two of them even coming to the bunker to recover, it seemed out of the question to get that kind of luxury out of them. On one hand, Sam was happy to have the whole gang back. It meant they were, for the time being, safe and sound and nearby and he did love them, but their never shifting presence made his own private life that much more difficult. He didn't have the privilege of taking onto the road with Gadreel like Dean had had with Castiel. He couldn't figure out an excuse for it either. So he was stuck here, strangely like a teenager trying to take the first steps with his new relationship but failing to find the time and space for it to grow.

Gadreel looked back at him and his brows were knit to a slight frown. Sam watched him and realised once again that despite all of that, he was still more than determined to keep trying; there were few things he could name that came even close to this feeling that he had in him now. He smiled, and the expression on the older smoothened and lit up, although no smile ever managed to make its way onto his lips in turn.  
"This does not burden me," he finally replied, his palm sliding over Sam's side and resting over his stomach instead, "I am still finding my footing here, it is true, but being with you is different - it is like rest, and while I am still trying to learn much that is unique to how we are together, it is not the kind of learning that exhausts me. You give me much in turn. What I fear is that I might hurt you, Sam Winchester. It is the last thing that I want yet I've heard what you've told me. I know what I've done to you and I know the extent of the damage I inflicted upon you now. I am afraid that while I feel this way, I could still against my will cause harm to you one way or another, perhaps without knowing it myself. Moreover, I am not sure I deserve this. I know you do not wish for me to feel guilt, but it seems hard for me to overcome."

"I can't promise you anything," Sam sighed, closing his eyes and turning on his side so that his face was touching Gadreel's.  
He brought his knees between them and dragged the older's arm back around his body, shivering as exhaustion made the room feel colder than it was.  
"It's just something we have to wait and see. So I guess... it'd be best for us both if we slow down a bit and just feel this thing out, right?"

"It seems safer."

Sam nodded, feeling his hair bundle up underneath his temple. A strand kept poking him on the bridge of his nose and the sensation was ticklish and uncomfortable, but he didn't want to move to brush it aside.  
"I'm trying to tell myself that we do have time," he said, opening his eyes to see nothing but the other's mouth and the side of his jaw, "but I'm so damn afraid that something will happen to you."

"I will be safe, Sam. I promise you that I am stronger than I seem now."

Sam nodded again. A small smile crossed his lips and he pulled himself up, laid a hand over the older male's hip and dragged a finger along the side of it: his smile returned and widened and he sighed contently.  
"I'm happy about this. I really am. I'm just scared about a lot of things recently, and... I want to feel safe. I haven't in a very long while and I don't know if it's something I can ever have again, but that's the bottom line. I'm needy, I'm whiny, I'm moody and I have lockdowns and nightmares and sometimes - sometimes it's worse than that. I'm okay now, really, but I can't guarantee I'm okay tomorrow. I don't know if that's something you want to deal with. If it's... something you can."

Gadreel followed him up and he sought out Sam's hand to take in his; Sam let him hold it and a warm feeling of relief rushed within him at the gesture. It made him feel a little more stable and the vulnerability in his confession now seemed to have been met with confidence, not fear or regret or disappointment. And perhaps Sam shouldn't have feared such in the first place. He'd been a mess when Gadreel had possessed him and seen it all in its bare naked honesty, the whole shameful distance that his insecurities and fears and self-hatred ran through. He was a different mess today but just like Dean, the one person whom Sam knew for certain had known him at his worst, Gadreel knew what he was up against, and perhaps they both deserved to know exactly how bad the things had gotten with him before he could truly be honest with either of them.  
The hunter let out another sigh, this one burdened instead of content, and he shook his head to his thoughts, but the angel held his hand tighter and seemed to fish him out of the depth with that small signal of still being present and still caring.

"It is something we just have to wait and see," he repeated Sam's words, "I am not afraid of your humanity, Sam. I know what you are. I know much of you already and I am not afraid of finding out the rest, if only you'll trust me with it. And perhaps I can help. If I cannot, the least I can do is to be there with you - believe me when I say that I will not walk away. You would have to tell me to leave first."

"And if I do? What if I tell you to leave when I'm too afraid to trust you, not because I want you gone but because I'm afraid I'll lose you anyway?"

Gadreel thought about it: the concept seemed to hit him for the first time, but Sam hadn't expected anything else. A command was a command to an angel, but humans weren't that simple. He knew well he'd told Dean to leave and never come back a hundred times before, yet he still couldn't envision a life without his brother by his side, and he never had, not once, believed that he could live a life like that. Not in a long time, anyway. He was notorious for it, as were most humans; when he couldn't cope, he tried to run. And to an angel, such a command might come as absolute - leave, and _never_ come back.

"I have much to learn," the older finally admitted, gaze turning towards the bed between them.

Sam shook his head with a small smile.  
"Not tonight. We should rest," he said.

Their eyes met and he saw relief in the sentry's gaze before Gadreel nodded.  
"We should."

 

* * *

 

The alarm came at three in the morning: the lights in the bedroom flared back on and Sam nearly fell out of the bed looking for the gun that wasn't where he leaned, nor was the table he'd thought he was leaning to. Gadreel pressed his hand over his chest to calm him down - he'd felt the electric charge before it had manifested in noise and he'd known to expect the sound that followed.

"God, did they trigger that or is that an actual resurrection?" Sam muttered, climbed out of the bed still rubbing his eyes.

"We only have one way to find out," Gadreel replied and followed the man around with his gaze as he waited for Sam to pull on his clothes.  
They descended the stairs together only to find Charlie standing up at the bottom of the stairs wearing nothing but a white pyjama with a faded logo on the chest; she was talking to Dean by the sound of it although it took a while for the older hunter to come into sight. When she noticed the two coming down the stairs she turned to them.

"I think it works! It - if it didn't work it wouldn't sound the alarm at all. At least... at least I think so."

"It's good enough," Dean cut in, "Gadreel, Cas already left - he's probably in the garage and you won't catch up to him, so don't try. There's a problem - specifically, there are two marks on the map. He left you orders to chase down the one closer to home."

"He's not ready to head out on his own," Sam argued, but Gadreel turned towards him at the bottom of the stairs and shook his head.

"I will be fine, Sam," he promised.  
"I am strong enough to fight demons."

"They're there to kill angels, Gadreel, there's no guarantee. I'm coming with you."

"Sam, we need you back here," Dean grunted, casting an examining look towards Gadreel.  
"I'm sorry, I am, I know you're probably all for a field mission right now, but Charlie found the logs and she talked to me last night while you were asleep, and we realised there's a pattern here that we have to get to the bottom of. We need you figuring it out with us, there's too much to do for two, it'd take forever."

"But -"

"He said he'll be fine, Sam. Seriously. Trust him. The demons are out to kill angels that are already halfway down. He's in full power, well, next to, anyway. He's gonna be just fine," Dean argued with a hint of frustration in his voice.

"He is right," the sentry noted with his eyes upon Sam - his aura remained calm, set to the task ahead like it was the only thing that mattered here and now, and he hoped that the younger would trust him the way he needed him to. He didn't want Sam to worry, but Dean was right; he did not need to risk Sam for the mission, and if he had to choose between the two evils, worrying him was the one he'd choose without a question.  
"These are my brothers and my sisters; they are not your responsibility, and neither am I. Stay here. I will be back as soon as I can."   
He turned to face the older brother with nothing but decisiveness in his expression.  
"Dean, tell me where I am going and I will see it done."

Dean nodded.  
"Come."

"Wait," Sam uttered before either could make a move, "I'll give you one of my phones. You might need it. I'll add my number in it so that you can call either me or Dean if something happens, alright?"

Gadreel gave the younger a small smile and nodded.  
"That could come handy," he agreed, "Does Castiel -"

"Cas has one," Dean replied before the angel had finished his question, "Sam has his number, you can call him on the way or whenever if you need to."

Gadreel gave him an examining look before nodding again.  
"My destination?" he asked then, and Dean motioned him to follow as Sam spun around on his heels and skipped back upstairs.


	15. Old Hauntings

* * *

  
"I'm sorry I left in such a hurry," Castiel apologised.  
Gadreel adjusted the phone over his ear and wondered how likely it was that he'd drive off the road with half his attention on the call. It didn't seem _too_ likely, but as much as he'd had to drive during his time on earth, he still didn't trust his attention to stay in one place as long as there was something more pressing happening - a phone call seemed to qualify.  
"I worry I may not make it in time. Be careful, Gadreel."

"I will be," the older promised.  
He steered the car off to an almost empty highway and was relieved to find the road less slippery there.  
"The same goes for you, brother. You will not make it there at all if you crash your car."

Castiel huffed - for a moment, silence reigned over the line and Gadreel glanced at the phone to make sure the call was still on. It was: the sentry cleared his throat although there was little need for him to do so, just to prompt the other to say something. Castiel didn't.  
"Castiel, if I may..." the older began when it became clear that the younger wouldn't reply.

"Yes?"

"There is someone I hope - I hope to meet," he confessed, "If you are too late and it is him that you find... I would still wish to bury him, as I did not have the chance before."

"Who do you speak of?"

"Abner. A... Alexander Sarver."  
Gadreel heard Castiel nodding slowly - he wondered if Castiel remembered that he wasn't able to see him through the phone call, but the rustling spoke a language of its own.

"The man you murdered," the seraph finally spoke, and the words stung like a wound inside Gadreel's chest, "He was an angel?"

"He was my friend. The best friend I ever had - my only friend, for a long time."  
The sentry didn't care if Castiel would judge him by the knowledge; it didn't matter. He deserved to be judged for it.  
"If he is raised like I was, I have to - I have to face him. I owe him an explanation, an - apology; this is something I have to make right, Castiel, and if... if you find him dead, bring at least his body back to me."

To his surprise, Castiel didn't hesitate with his response.  
"Of course," the younger promised.

It was Gadreel who waited next: he couldn't speak past whatever was blocking his throat like a hand strangling him. Finally he swallowed through the knot and shook his head to concentrate again. The road glittered with ice.  
"That is all," he said, "Good luck, Castiel."

"To you as well. I hope you find your target alive and that everything goes well for you both. That... you face no opposition."

"I hope the same for you, brother."

The call ended, and past the treeline the lights of a city far away lit up the low-hanging clouds like the promise of sunrise that was still far away. Gadreel pushed his phone back into the pocket of his jeans and sped up; he'd only been promised an hour of time before the resurrection would happen, and he was still at least one and a half from the location he'd been assigned to. A part of him hoped that he would be the one to find Abner; another hoped that the angel would still remain dead, and that whoever Castiel would find would be a stranger to him. He didn't know how he could introduce himself to whom he was facing now on his own, but he'd do his best to be honest no matter how much the thought of it scared him. He knew he'd need to change his own ways first to change the path he'd walked down to hell before - he wouldn't repeat that. Not with anyone, and least of all his own family: a freshly resurrected angel couldn't pose a threat to him, not beyond that of sharp words. He'd suffered worse before.

The night stretched ahead of him as he sped through it, occasionally dropping speed whenever the road turned too dangerous to travel fast, but the closer the morning crawled the lower the temperature fell and almost every mile was covered with invisible thin ice that threatened to throw the car off balance and he wasn't making half the progress that he wished he could have made. His torn wings twitched nervously as if prompting him to flight but there was no way those burnt, scarred things would have carried him anywhere, even less now that his energy was so low by default, and he ignored the strange pressure gathering to the slowly recovering limbs. Instead he tried to keep his mind on the task now and worry less about the future, even though his thoughts kept returning to it regardless of his wishes - the further he made it, the more afraid he was of what he would face when he finally reached his destination. It wasn't an ambush that he feared, he was more than prepared to fight, but rather the possibility of finding another angel dead and on the other hand, the chance of rejection that he faced at exposing himself. It didn't matter: the miles moved past him and the deadline of an hour did so as well no matter how fast he was driving. When he finally stopped in front of a large graveyard, he feared he'd come too late.

The cold, harsh wind carried the smell of grace in it: the darkness over the landscape was nearly impenetrable, yet Gadreel could sense the glow of an angel's halo through it. On the opposite end of the grounds was a building, and he followed the smell of bleeding essence and the sensation of moving closer to one of his own over the fence and past the rows of gravestones towards it. The building was a small chapel, and its door was hanging off its hinges - Gadreel moved to it carefully, fighting the urge to make a run for it just in case he still stood a chance at making it in time. He could smell sulfur just as he could smell the grace now. Regardless of how soon after the resurrection he'd arrived, he hadn't been the first one on site - not by a long shot.

The chapel was dark like the grounds were; by the door of it, a guard's corpse was bleeding upon the tiles. Gadreel stepped over him and tried to ignore the penetrating, almost sweet stench that lingered in the air, and his steps remained quiet although he doubted anyone would hear him approaching. There was commotion inside in the hall, and someone was laughing, spitting out curses, taunting, and although the words were spoken by a demon - there was no doubt about it - they still eased Gadreel's mind. Demons didn't waste words to dead angels. Whoever was in there was still alive; injured, certainly, but alive and well enough for the demons to carry on their attacks.

The doors to the chapel hung open like the front door had, off their hinges and creaking in the breeze that crossed indoors from behind Gadreel. The sentry moved silently to the doorway and stopped to make sense of what he saw: he could see the twisted souls of three demons and behind them the faint glow of an angel directly opposite from where he now stood, against the altar at the center of the room. Something was off, however. The notion made Gadreel stop instead of making his move - he could have taken out one or two demons easily before they'd have the chance to defend themselves, but it wasn't about the opposition, it was about the angel that he saw. Cold dread spread into his grace as he looked at the fading, sparking glow of the halo; he knew it, and he knew it all too well. It was the only halo that had never left his side, not once, since his fall - the only one that could instill such bitter anger inside him at the same time as it left his body feeling weak and his whole grace freezing with terror.  
As he stared, unmoving, he saw the angel turning - in just a mere moment, they'd be looking at one another. The demon standing between them cast another insult into the darkness but Gadreel knew the angel wasn't listening any more than he was; their eyes met, and it was as if they were suddenly face to face, and Gadreel could see the shock on the younger's features as his mind registered the presence of another angel - and then the change in his aura as he realised who it was that stood by the door.

Gadreel shivered. Even as his wings spread on his both sides, preparing to shield him in battle, he realised he hadn't changed. Not one bit: he walked on steady feet across the corridor towards the back of the demon but his eyes never left the shape of Thaddeus, collapsed on the floor against the altar, bleeding, sliced, battered, and he loved every second of it. At the same time, something gnawed at the core of his grace as if to tear pieces from it; through the high, the sheer sadistic enjoyment of seeing what he saw now, something else was pushing at him. He drowned his blade into the back of the demon and cast it aside, bent quickly to grab the blade that had fallen from Thaddeus and with which Gadreel had once taken the guard's own life before, and he turned his back to the bleeding torturer, wings blocking the way to him as the two demons charged for him, taken by surprise but wielding blades from fallen angels ready in attack already. Gadreel blocked the attack from the side of his offhand by bringing Thaddeus' blade hard against the one that the demon had aimed his way, and with his own blade he gutted the one charging for him from his right side; the demon fell on its knees, the vessel bleeding tainted human blood on the chapel's floor amongst the splatters of blood that contained grace and was pure; the combination let out a hiss like water hitting burning coals.  
The demon on Gadreel's left recovered quickly from the strike; she took a step to the side to dodge the slash from Gadreel's blade and danced around the next just the same. Gadreel kept his wings over the paths to the cherub behind him even as he joined the demon in the dance that she led; he didn't deal blows to try and catch her, she was moving too smoothly and was too careful in tracking Gadreel's movements. She spat at him and laughed, although she was clearly horrified - any demon would have been facing off an angel alone, but she was old and she'd probably done this a hundred times before.

"Why'd you come and ruin our fun?" she asked, snickering as she retreated two steps and well away from Gadreel's reach.  
She stood up on a bench and kicked over the one in front of her: it smashed in two from the impact and Gadreel could hear the bone in her leg shattering the same. It wouldn't slow her down one bit, but the human inside her was still alive and felt the pain - she knew she was losing, but she wasn't stupid. Gadreel hesitated; there was a chance he could save the woman, but it came at the risk of injury, of making a mistake and losing. She knew that well: her vessel was her only chance at escaping.  
"What, you afraid of a girl, pretty boy?"

"Leave," Gadreel spoke in a low voice, almost growling; "If you leave her behind, I will let you go."

"A fair trade," the demon spoke, grimacing, "but I'd hate to go back downstairs with these news. You've got to make it a bit sweeter, _angel_. Let me finish that sad son of a bitch you're so bravely defending; he'll die anyway."

"The only trade you will have is your life for hers. You will die if you do not run, demon. I do not wish to take her life with yours."

"She's a whore. She's not worth the effort, baby."

"She is worth the effort for me," Gadreel stated, his voice dry and words short, simple, "This is your last warning."

The demon glanced at Thaddeus, whose aura was fading even as Gadreel straightened out his torn wing to cover him to his best effort. Next, the demon stared at him and snarled. She opened her mouth and black smoke twirled out from there: when it was gone, the vessel fell from the bench and hit the floor in a loud thud, head colliding with the back of the shattered bench hard enough to break skin. Gadreel cast a look around them, making sure they were alone now, but the three of them were all that was left. He stepped forwards, glanced behind him hesitantly to see that the cherub was already unconscious, and instead of turning he walked to the woman instead. He pressed his fingertips over her forehead and let grace flow into her - just enough to cover the concussion and piece back together the broken bone in her leg, but not enough to give her back the energy she'd lost. He couldn't afford it; this was the best he could do for her. He lifted her on the bench and made sure she was safely upon it before he finally turned around again. Hatred rooted him to the spot: there wasn't a way around it. He wanted to stand there and watch life leak out of the angel who'd tortured him for thousands of years: killing him hadn't made it easier for Gadreel, but watching him slip away slowly brought such satisfaction to him that the decision to not interfere was almost impossible to counter. No one would blame him, he knew it; he'd killed the demons, but they'd already cut into Thaddeus, leaving more than enough damage behind to kill him. Gadreel had arrived too late, and he was still weakened, still more than dependent on every drop of energy he had to himself - he couldn't spare any for another angel.

No one would blame him.

He closed his eyes and breathed in, shuddering as he took a step away from the seat. His each step was heavy like cement had been poured over his legs, but he was moving, and although walking was difficult, it got easier the further he got. He knelt over the collapsed angel and examined the pale skin of his vessel's, compared it to the almost colourless glow of the halo that only reached so far around his body. He remembered what it had looked like before - full of gold, like sunlight, treading over full, red wings tipped in black and glowing like metal when light hit the feathers the right way. All guardians shared the trait - his own blue feathers could block out a direct strike from an angel blade without so much as receiving a scratch for the effort. That was why Thaddeus had torn them out one by one on the very first time Gadreel had been brought to him, and Gadreel still felt the pain of each being pulled out from deep within him, the agony that had went on for hundreds upon hundreds of feathers and left him dripping grace bare and shamed in a declaration to anyone looking that he was not worth his shield, his pride or his colour. He was worth nothing, and yet...

The younger stirred; there was a faint blue glow behind his eyes as he opened them and looked at Gadreel. A weary grin struggled its way on his lips.  
"The last words... I ever spoke to you... Gadreel... I think I - I think I apologised."

"You pleaded for your life, Thaddeus. That is all."

"I... take it back."

The sentry couldn't hold back the sneer on his face; more than most of him wanted to take up both blades and drive them through the younger's chest again and again and again until there was nothing but a bloody mess left of what he'd been. He held back, closed his eyes and lowered his head, breathing, _breathing_ \- he recalled Abner and Castiel, Sam, even Dean, and concentrated on the task he'd been given. It wasn't about whom he was saving. It didn't, couldn't, matter. The only thing that did was that he was here by orders, and Thaddeus was a brother of his just like any other angel.  
One blade fell from his hand, the other melted back into his grace: he opened his eyes just in time to see Thaddeus jump to the sound of metal hitting the floor. He was afraid - terrified - and when he looked back at Gadreel, his expression was wild, so horrified that Gadreel could see the weakened grace in him struggling to leave although it was bound to the flesh due to its injuries and Thaddeus had to know it just fine.

"Kill me," the younger spat through the trembling of his body, "Kill me, you filth. You did it once already. Did you... grow even weaker while I was gone, Gadreel? Do you only stab others in the back now? It'd - suit a traitor... like yourself."

"Brave words," Gadreel replied, forcing himself calm but sounding almost like he truly was, "for a coward, Thaddeus."  
He pulled back his sleeve and shuddered as he reached for the angel; Thaddeus cowered from his touch, blood gushing out of his wounds at the motion and the smell of oxygen intensifying in the air around them. Gadreel disregarded it and pressed his palm over the male's forehead. He felt the grace pulsing inside there, although as it reached for his it was weak and fearful. He closed his eyes again and clenched his jaw as he allowed his own grace to connect with the younger's; for a brief moment they were one, and Thaddeus sucked energy out of Gadreel's grace with the hunger of one that was almost faded already - the older stayed still although dizziness flooded him and his vision blurred until he was certain the bleeding from the younger's grace was completely halted. Then he let his hand drop from the other's forehead and he stumbled up, walked away and leaned to the back of a seat to stabilise himself and stop the world from spinning.  
For a moment that seemed to last forever, Gadreel stood there listening to the sound of Thaddeus breathing behind him, and the tension in the chapel thickened - outside, the sound of a siren was closing in from further away.

"We have to move," the sentry finally uttered, pushing himself back on his feet, "But you have a choice."  
Every atom in Gadreel's vessel was screaming against him completing his orders, but he ignored it and struggled through the obstacle that seemed to try its best to build itself beyond his reach even as he continued speaking.  
"You can stay here, let them find you, and go on about your life the way you want to. You will be hunted; the demons will not stop chasing you for as long as they have a chance at ending you before you recover. You will be alone and defenseless against them, but you have a fair chance at survival, and if you do, you can choose your own path from there."

Thaddeus let out a sound that could have been a sarcastic chuckle if he'd had the strength to tone it that far.  
"Not much of a choice," he noted, "What is it, I get to choose where I die, exactly?"

"Or," Gadreel continued, praying to the absent God that Thaddeus would hate him enough to choose death, "you can come with me; I can offer you safety, a place to recover, and the chance to return to Heaven once you are strong enough to serve amongst the ranks again."

"You?" Thaddeus repeated, and now his disbelief was strong enough to support a guffaw, " _You_ would offer safety - to _me_?"

Gadreel wanted to punch him in the face to serve as an indication as to how much he wanted to. Instead, he clarified.  
"I stand with Castiel," he stated almost patiently, "These are his terms."

The sirens had stopped: the lights were visible to the chapel.

"Choose, Thaddeus. Or I will choose for you. I cannot stay. You can."

Thaddeus shook his head.  
"No," he sighed heavily, "I can't."

"And why is that?"  
Gadreel could hear the desperation in his voice and Thaddeus had smelled it like a bloodhound - he grinned when he looked at Gadreel before his expression turned to bitterness instead.

"Because," he spoke like to a simple child, "unlike yours, my vessel is famous, Gadreel; every newspaper in this realm had my face on its frontpage when you _murdered_ me. They find me alive... it's going to raise some sticky questions that I don't have the answers to. No, Gadreel; as much as I hate to say it, I'm... coming with you."  
While Gadreel was busy attempting to deny reality, Thaddeus pushed himself on his feet - he nearly fell, and as he spread his charred wing to catch balance he knocked over another bench from the rows.  
"Lead on, then, _brother_."

"Do not call me that."

"But you are."  
Thaddeus spat on the floor and wiped blood from his mouth to the back of his jacket's sleeve.  
"We can... stay and keep arguing semantics - you know that I _love_ your company - but I thought we were in a hurry."

 

* * *

 

 

Sam glanced at his clock and shifted with unease. He hated being buried in books today; he couldn't remember the last time he'd been this uncomfortable with reading, or when he'd last had the attention span as short as he'd had when he was seven years old. Dean kept glancing at him over his own books, for once the guy with the patience and concentration of a scholar - he seemed well-rested to add injury to insult, whereas Sam, despite his earlier lengthy sleep, now felt mostly sleep-deprived and cranky.  
He'd drank three cups of coffee and the fourth beside him was growing cold as he tried to stretch it to last forever, and his phone had stayed silent for much too long for his liking as it sat beside the drink he was ignoring. Once more straying from the text he was supposed to be taking in he reached for the phone and checked the time - seven in the morning - and the messages, the email and the empty screen that spoke of nothing new happening.

"Sammy, you okay?" Dean asked him, finally breaking the badly kept pretense that there was nothing abnormal about the younger's behaviour.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Just - I don't think this is going to help, Dean."

"Your phone's not going to help either, Sam."

"That's not my point."  
Sam lowered the phone back on the table, some shreds of shame bringing blush to his cheeks that the older clearly took notice of - a small victorious smirk crossed Dean's features before he leaned back to his book.

"I think I'm onto something here, so you just speak for yourself."

"Oh, yeah?" Sam scoffed, "What are you onto?"

"A tablet, actually. Could be a source of power above that of the angel tablet's, deals with creation, and, you know, re-creation."

"Show me."

Dean nodded, turned the book around and tapped at a chapter.  
"I've read it, so dig in. I'm going to chase that lead, you wanna join me? I think we have a lot more on tablets than we have on generic, random, freaky angel resurrections."

Sam read a few lines and nodded slowly once he'd caught onto the story.  
"You're right," he finally stated, "This is the best lead we have. A tablet that - sorry - a _Word_ that can create from the pool of creation. But this'd mean, I mean, it's - it's not a resurrection tablet, is it? Just..."

"A clone tablet, yeah, I guess."

The younger shivered.  
"Okay," he said, ignoring the discomfort, "There's usually more to it."

"That's next to no information, I mean, there's probably _a lot_ more to it than what that book has a whiff of a rumour of," Dean confirmed with a grimace, already up from the table and looking through books from the shelves surrounding the table.  
Many of them were more or less connected to the tablets, brought and organized there to help Kevin with his translations and his work surrounding the Word; it was so far the easiest possible lead to follow, referring to work half done years ago.  
"Cas might know more about it. Hell, even Gadreel might."

"Dean, a tablet with the power to actually create - or to raise the dead - would be big news of the scale I don't know if I want to even hear of."

"What, you have your tail tucked between your legs already, Sammy?"  
A big tome hit the table with an enormous slamming sound that made Sam jump and turn a burning glare towards the sight of his grinning brother, already with three other books piled in his arms.  
"Seriously though, this could be _big_. If it's another unearthed tablet then someone has to be using it. And, uh, it can't really be the scribe this time, either."

"Then who? The prophets are gone, Dean."

"Yup. God, maybe? Damn, it better be God this time."

Sam sighed.  
"Yeah, right. That's a fight I look forwards to having."

"Hey," Dean huffed as he sat back down and slid two books to Sam, and in a move that in no way surprised the younger, he also pushed the grand tome to his side on the same go, "If it's God, maybe we don't have to fight. Don't you think He might want to pick up his kids from the ground when He gets back from His holiday and finds pretty much all of them dead?"

A hollow laugh escaped Sam as he set the books in front of him, replacing the old ones with these in the hopes they finally had something real to research.  
"You really think God needs a tablet to do that?"

"I don't know," Dean replied with a cheerful shrug, "Anyway, even if it's God and He's not dabbling in the written arts, His Word sure as hell should give us some insight on what's going on. Damn, Cas is not going to like the sound of this. I mean, we're not squeaky clean on this either, but if someone here has daddy issues, that'd be Cas."

"Maybe don't walk up to him and announce we have a lead on God, Dean. Let's figure out what we're dealing with first and make conclusions about the source of it then."

"I'm _excited_. How long it's been since we last had a proper world scale catastrophe on our hands? Hell, Sam, when was the last time we were dealing with something that might turn out to be not _bad_ , just freaky?"

"When was the last time I heard your optimism is the question that troubles me more," Sam grunted with half a smile.

"Dude, I'm a freaking sunflower. Always facing the light."

"Yeah, right."  
Sam grinned dryly as he tried to patch together the book he'd opened from near the middle and which he now found to be torn in two halves from that exact place as if someone had used it for a pillow for ten years straight.  
"Well, if it's finally God, I think we can safely say this one's out of our hands."

"Do you really think He'd bother with Hell messing with the grand plan, Sam? If it's God, we're in for a real busy year again."

"Back to demon hunting. Yeah, that's what I missed."

"You're a librarian now, Sammy. I, on the other hand, am lusting for some demon hunting action. The same old hauntings have gotten boring. Man, I'm almost hyped for this fight."

"Dean - are you high?" the younger asked with an unimpressed, weary stare.

Dean raised his brows and winked.  
"On action, maybe."

"Just shut up and read, please. I never thought I'd see the day when you're geeking out on research to the point where you can't stay put long enough to actually do the research from the joy of it, Dean."


	16. Coping

* * *

 

It was half past seven in the morning, and Kansas was stirring around Gadreel as he kept driving, when for the first time during his brief time back in the realm of the living was interrupted by a signal from the angelic communications. It opened with a loud empty pressure hitting Gadreel so unexpectedly that the car made a small detour to the middle of the road, slid to the opposite side of it and then returned with a whining sound to its original course: to his grand disappointment, Thaddeus seemed to have received the same effect and now stirred beside him, eyes misty as he opened them and cast a blank, searching look around himself to figure out what was happening.  
Neither of them could even properly manage to grow aware of one another's presence before the pressure turned to Enochian, to words that were both stern and obnoxiously loud in comparison to the vast silence that had thus far reigned over the network of connections, but which were not directed towards Gadreel nor Thaddeus and crossed over their ends like a badly echoing rain of commands to an upper level, to some ends of the network that remained dead and silent and to some that responded with similarly echoing, yet quieter, signals back towards the source.  
For a while, during which Gadreel lowered the speed of the engine's to such a level that if someone had been driving behind him he'd have most certainly received an angry honk for the trouble, the network was ablast with open signals criss-crossing from one end to the other like the whole network had turned alight with electric fires, and then, just as suddenly, it all ceased.

Gadreel felt a distinctive burn over his cheek when the younger guard beside him turned to stare at him.  
"The hell was that all about?" Thaddeus asked him as if suddenly he should have had the answers to everything.  
The older made no note of him but pressed the pedal down and reached for his phone; he was more than afraid of contacting anyone over the open signals, and even now that the effort required to reconnect to the network would have demanded little to no effort or power from his end he rather used the phone to contact Castiel, as if it was somehow safer or more private for them to use. To his surprise, while he was using a single hand to try and find Castiel's number from the list of strange contacts, skimming over Sam's number with a hint of a smile crossing his features, the phone alerted him to an incoming call from the number he'd sought for. He pressed the phone over his ear, still decisively ignoring the glare that Thaddeus was turning towards him, and concentrated on keeping the car on track on the slippery road.

"Raphael is back," Castiel's voice opened the call, "and so are many other angels. The bunker's system must be going crazy by now."

"All at once?" Gadreel asked, his stomach twisting even as he tried to ignore the fact that the return of an archangel meant nothing good for him and most likely not for the present order of things either.

"Separately, but almost simultaneously; within the past ten minutes. I started picking up contacts from - certain angels who I've known for years to be dead."

"Any significant or close contacts?"

"You'd know of Naomi, of course."

Gadreel felt like steering the car directly into the ditch on purpose now, but instead only held the wheel tighter to the point where his knuckles went white.  
"Of course," he uttered.  
Naomi had once studied him throughoutly to find where he'd gone wrong; what had turned him against his orders. She'd found nothing, of course, as Gadreel knew well he'd never disobeyed and there was nothing in him to fix, but her examinations and attempts at righting the sentry's apparent ongoing disobedience had been little less than the torture Thaddeus had brought upon him as punishment for the crime he had not committed.

"Well, she - amongst others - have directly connected to me, and I'm about to drive to see what I can find out from her."

"What about the angel you were headed for earlier?" Gadreel asked.

"I was too late," Castiel simply said.  
He remained quiet for a moment before letting out a sigh.  
"He was - torn when I found him. But it was not Abner, Gadreel, which I think is the answer you're looking to hear from me. How about your mission?"

Finally Gadreel cast a glance towards Thaddeus, who'd just finally ceased to stare at him but now returned to doing so as if he'd never stopped.  
"Completed," the sentry stated bitterly, "yet complicated. I would prefer to speak of it privately when you return. He's chosen to recover with us, however. I think that is the answer to your next question."

"You do not sound particularly happy."

"You would be right to think so, brother, yet as I said, I would prefer not to speak of it now."  
He heard the younger nod over the line and sighed in turn. Thaddeus had turned away again yet the sharpness in his eyes spoke of him making note of his surroundings - Gadreel was almost certain he'd have to do something to stop him from taking in the whole route to the bunker, but he had few means for it in the present with both his hands preoccupied and the car in full motion.  
"We will speak later," he continued then when Castiel once more had fallen quiet and his silence stretched for a longer while.

"Take care, Gadreel."

"I should say the same to you."

There was a smile in Castiel's voice when he next spoke.  
"I will."

It was Gadreel's finger that now slipped to the end call button and disconnected them; his stomach felt like a bottomless hollow and his chest seemed compressed and he hated knowing that it all communicated to the torturer next to him like plain spoken words, yet Thaddeus didn't have his usual sense of satisfaction glowing from his features. Instead Gadreel's unease seemed to stir nervousness in the younger just the same - he wasn't stupid, and he knew well that what caused the stronger of them, the one with the power of the pack backing him up, to feel uneasy was enough of a threat to his own existence as well to not be ignored.  
Gadreel sped up again and hoped that the remaining road would be long enough to lull the younger's wounded grace back to rest so he could avoid the hassle of keeping him in the dark by other means; when he glanced at Thaddeus again however he could see that the bloodloss was still weakening him, and for once it seemed like things might turn out to the sentry's benefit after all.

 

* * *

 

"Did you get the damn thing to shut up?" Dean's voice asked; Charlie sat on top of the map and spread her hands.

"No," she said with a shrug, "It just... stopped."

Sam poked his head from underneath the table and wiped off the stray hair that fell over his face.  
"It's not off either," he confirmed, "just quiet. So I guess it's not broken."

"Either way, I'm damn happy the sirens stopped. Uh, was that a glitch?"

"You wish," Sam grimaced, "But no, it was an actual alarm - massive one; it's all over Europe, come look."

"I'm not sure if I want to," the older muttered, but Sam watched him move closer until his legs were all he could see.  
He dodged out from under the table - there was nothing he could do to the system, much like Charlie had already confirmed - and leaned onto the map instead. The red dots were scattered like breadcrumbs over France and Germany and across many surrounding countries in lesser amounts like someone had dropped a bomb there, with fewer dots marking more distant locations around the States, South America, China and India.

"That's a lot of angels," Dean noted.

"Yeah," Sam confirmed, "Did you ever find the switch?"

"For the speakers? No, I didn't. Say, is this - are these resurrections going to happen, or did they -"

"I think they, or at least most of them, already happened," Charlie said with a shrug, "I don't think the machine can pick up things that far before they happen. I could be wrong, of course, but I doubt it."

"What's up with the bigger dot?" Dean asked, tapping the red marker on the map that was clearly bigger than the other ones.

Sam shrugged.  
"We figured it could be a bigger event, or multiple angels at once."

"Bigger event, like -"

"Like an archangel, maybe," the younger confirmed, "We know for a fact that the dead ones all pretty much died here in the US, but remember when Cas got blown up and he woke up in Australia? I mean, it's possible."

Dean nodded.  
"I guess. Damn, I sure hope not. Maybe it's just multiple of the less dickish ones in a same place."

"Maybe."

"Any word from Gadreel?" the older continued, casting a look with raised brows towards Sam.

"None. Cas?"

"None."

"Great. I hope they're okay."

Dean nodded.  
"Usually no word means no news, but this kind of got me unnerved. I'm - gonna call Cas, actually."

Sam agreed.  
"I'll go back to preparing food, I guess," he huffed with a half-hearted shrug, "Charlie, keep looking for the off switch, okay?"

"Yeah," the woman sighed, sliding back on the floor, "There's got to be one somewhere and if it's not here then it's on the machines - I'll find it, eventually. I might be growing a beard by then, though. This place is giant."

"Tell me about it."

The study echoed as Sam crossed it; Dean's call got him to turn around again and the older showed him a thumbs up to confirm that he'd gotten Castiel on the line. It made Sam feel better, and his fingertips slid over his phone as he wondered if he should call Gadreel to make sure he was fine. Eventually, once he walked into the kitchen and turned the stove under the no longer boiling potatoes back on, he did bring up his phone if only to confirm it was still too early to worry: even in the case that everything had gone according to plan, he had to give the angel at least some twenty minutes to talk with his brother or sister or whatever he'd found from the location given to him, and by those calculations he would be arriving back at the bunker in a bit. His target had been a small town off the highway, Dean had showed the place on the map to Sam as well - Castiel's location had been some miles off another further away, and although there hadn't seemed to be anything in that area, Castiel had sworn he'd been familiar with the place and that an important abandoned structure stood there still. Of course, Sam hadn't heard him tell this; he hadn't called Castiel or otherwise made any effort to confirm what Dean had told him, he trusted the older to know where the seraph was and what he'd told him just as well as Castiel himself would know. They tended to work like that these days, following the tell all policy to a disturbing detail, while Sam was the one keeping secrets now.

Secrets indeed. His head felt light and his limbs weak when he settled to the stove and turned around the pack he'd left on the table, pieces of raw meat falling with wet sounds to the frying pan. The thought of eating made him feel sick but he knew he'd have to or he'd faint, and that was something that would raise uncomfortable questions - he was supposed to be fine. And he was, at least to a degree; the problem was that he'd had no appetite since the dawn of days as far as he could remember, and as for his reaction to food, he could have just as well been sick the whole time too.  
He poured oil on the pan and mixed the meat in it, threw in some salt and pepper and turned his back to the whole thing just to feel the warmth of the stove radiate against his back: he closed his eyes and breathed in deep, trying to remember what it felt like to be alive. He'd known it through the night, and he'd definitely known it when he'd kissed Gadreel the day before, but this? This was his normal existence. He was neither here nor there, neither gone nor present, always with only one foot on this side of the fence and the other dangling down over some unspoken vacuum that tried to suck him in whole. It was true, he worried too much - he worried too much about himself, about the world, about his brother, about his family, about the morality and sensibility of everything, but it wasn't all. He _was_ ill, he just didn't know how exactly: the feeling ate him from inside and he had no idea how to stop it.

"Hey, Sam?"  
A knock on the door.

Sam opened his eyes and nodded at Dean.  
"Everything alright?"

Dean stepped in, shrugging.  
"I talked to Cas and he explained; he's not coming home today, by the way, not by the sound of it. Apparently Naomi is back and he's going in for, uh, a meeting. Trying to dig out something from her to shed light on this bunch of crazy."

"How does he know?"

"Angel communications? Hell, I didn't ask him. It seems they don't really use that anymore, but that's got to be it, it's not like the little birds got a hold of him on the road either."  
Dean had crossed the room and landed his hips against the counter: he sighed and stared at the meat on the pan for a while.  
"Did you add salt already?"

"I added salt. What else did he say?" Sam asked.

His brother gave him an examining look, licked his lips and turned his attention towards the ceiling instead.  
"You look like hell, I hope you know that, Sam."

"What?"

"He didn't say that," Dean clarified the obvious, "but I do. I'm worried. You told me not to worry but I do."

"I'm fine, really, Dean."

"Yeah, that's what you always say. That's what you said back when you were dying of the trials, too."

Sam sighed. It was true and he couldn't blame Dean for mistrusting his lies.  
"Well, I'm not dying," he said, and at least that much was true.

"I hoped you'd be better if we laid you off the work, you know. And for a bit there, you seemed to be better. But it's gotten worse again, hasn't it."

"What's _'it'_ , Dean?"

Their eyes met and Dean shrugged.  
"I don't know. Hell, I'm not sure if you know, either. I just wish you'd talk to me, man. I can't help you if you don't trust me."

"I... do trust you, it's not about that."

"What, you don't want me to worry?"

Sam considered. He brushed his hair back and glanced at the corner between the row of counters and the wall, then at the hanging pans and kettles and finally at Dean.  
"What'd he say?" he asked again.

He saw defeat trickle into Dean's expression and felt bad for it, but what could he possibly say to it? It was true, he didn't want Dean to worry, but on the other hand, he didn't want to let him in either, he didn't have the courage yet. Not on this. Not before he knew what was wrong with him, and perhaps not even then. He didn't know; he felt as if he had no control over it, that it was just a vague reference to everything, because the illness, the poison in him seemed to have seeped into everything he was and everything he did, to every second he existed and the way that he did. It felt as if he _was_ the illness, and there was nothing specific to it this time as it had been before when a part of him had felt dirtied or stained but rather like the whole of him was weak and fragile as if it had been chewed full of holes.

"That big red marker on the map, it's Raphael."

"Oh, God."

"Yeah. Speaking of, I pitched the idea at him after all. Well, at least that it might be the Word at play here. He agreed, surprisingly. Hesitantly, but he did," Dean continued.  
Then, as if sharpened by a decision, he turned a piercing look to Sam's direction.  
"Look, I know what I've promised. I won't dig at you, I'll let you tell me what's what when you feel like it, I'll let you breathe. I promised. But I don't think this falls under the category of digging anymore, Sam. I want to know what's up with you. It's like you're pushing me away and man, I don't - I can't just sit back and let you do it when it's clear that you need me."

"It's nothing, Dean."

"Well clearly it's something. Why won't you tell me? Is it about me? Am I screwing up again?"

Sam's head lifted so quickly his neck popped; his mouth fell open and he closed it just as fast when he realised he didn't have the words that would come quick enough, and instead settled on shaking his head decisively.  
"No, it's not you. It really isn't. You've - we're good, man, really. It's - it's everything else. Things that happened. I think it's finally..."  
Caught up with him? How could he say that, admit that he was too weak for it, for everything? He couldn't decide before he had the older's hand on his arm and the man had already moved half the distance between them. He cast a lost look into Dean's eyes and welcomed the embrace that came next; he felt like drowning into it, just giving in and letting go. When it ended, he couldn't look the older in the eye.

"So, I'm - uh - I promised to deal with it and I am, but I just wanna know, I want you to be honest with me, Gadreel's resurrection did have a much bigger effect on you than you're letting show, didn't it."

Sam nodded - slowly, indecisively. He wasn't sure what he was agreeing to. Yes, it had affected him. Both for better and worse. It had brought back the feelings from years ago that he thought he'd mostly covered, learned to live with, and on the other hand... on the other hand, it had given him something that made his chest ache not with pain but with excitement, affection and hope.  
"I'm dealing with it," he promised quietly.

"So is it helping? That I stepped back. Am I - letting you handle it okay?"

A faint smile crossed the younger's lips and he nodded, raising his eyes back towards Dean.  
"Yeah. I was happy to notice you're keeping that promise."

"I try. I just - I get protective, you know? I know he's bad news for you and I guess I just - it's not even about Kevin or me or you specifically, I just think he's not good for us."

"It's okay, really. I'm coping. I think - I think I'm starting to get along with him better than I realised I could," Sam admitted, knowing he was holding back the kicker but at the same time hoping he'd never need to go that far.  
Yet he realised that if he wanted to keep it... he'd have to, eventually, and that it would likely come sooner rather than later.  
"Just trust me on this, okay?"  
It was an odd request, as he wasn't certain whether he himself trusted him on the matter, but it was the best he could do for now. This he'd have to talk about, and he'd have to do it sooner than he wanted to; until then, he just needed the older's faith in him.

"Okay."  
Dean's smile was crooked and defeated as he reached to the spatula to push around the meat. The steam from the boiling water was slowly cooking Sam's flesh just the same and he shifted away from the stove.  
"Sammy, could you hand me the cream from the fridge? Let's get this meal going."

 

* * *

 

Sam stood in the garage, shirt splattered with water; his hair was tied back on a loose ponytail to keep it out of the way, which was enough to tell Gadreel he'd been cooking with his brother mere moments earlier. The sentry stepped out of the car and hesitated by the side of it while Sam approached.

"Okay, so, what's the deal?" the younger asked, casting a worried and confused look towards the car and then back at Gadreel.  
"You said you wanted to talk. It's about the angel, right?"

Gadreel nodded. He watched Sam for a while wondering if he remembered - more than likely the younger didn't. The dream in which Gadreel had put him should have been deep enough to keep him occupied through this particular murder.

"Is he alive?"

"He's... alive," the sentry replied with a hint of bitterness in his voice that caused Sam to raise his brows at him.

"You don't seem particularly happy about it."

"It is what I needed to talk to you about. This - was not the kind of work I hoped I would have to do; I saved his life, but I do not know if it was worth saving."

"Is he dangerous?"

"Hardly," Gadreel sighed, "He is badly injured; I did what I could, but his grace is weak and his vessel even weaker. But I share history with him, history that... I would have preferred to bury."

Sam squinted: the expression in his eyes was sharp and examining.  
"He's one of the angels you killed, isn't he."

Slowly, the older nodded.  
"And one I hoped would stay dead," he admitted.

"What's the issue?"

"His name is Thaddeus," Gadreel continued, his voice blank and colourless, "He was a warden in Heaven's prison. The one who tortured me."

Sam's expression smoothened in minor shock; his lips parted and he cast a look towards the car with a new tone in the way he saw the shape resting inside it.  
"Damn," he finally managed to mutter, and Gadreel couldn't help but nod, "but you saved him?"

"I did. I... followed the wishes of an old friend," the angel spoke heavily and turned his gaze hesitantly to look at the car like Sam's was, "I want to do my best to change - but it was not easy."

Sam nodded.  
"How bad off is he?"

"Quite."

"Demons?"

Gadreel nodded in turn.  
"Three of them. Two I killed, one survived; the possessed human was still alive, and the demon chose to save itself in trade for her life."

"That's... a nice thought, I guess. So - what do you want to do?"

"What Castiel ordered," Gadreel uttered strainedly, "What you planned. He chose to come with me, he chose to stay. It is only for the safety we provide but it is a promise I made to him - that I would guarantee his safety, though he did little to deserve it. He... is a brother of mine, like the rest of them. I have to live by what I've learned, Sam. Even if it is about someone as low as Thaddeus. I have to keep my word, and I gave it to save the angel I went to help, no matter their identity. I... never thought it would come to this."

"You did good," Sam sighed, "I'm just not sure if I - well, about that later, I guess. Now we have to get him out."

"He should be able to walk, yet I'd prefer not to be here when he is moved. I suppose Castiel is not arriving at this time?"

Sam shook his head and turned to look at Gadreel; his gaze was searching, empathetic.  
"No, he's not. Look, if you could go indoors, get Dean here, we'll figure out what to do with him, where to put him, you just - stay out of the way until we've found a place for him and patched him up. You did your job, Gadreel, we can take it from here."

A small smile crossed the older's features and he nodded.  
"Thank you, Sam," he spoke quietly with warmth in his exhausted voice, "I will find your brother and tell him to come here."


	17. Patchworks

* * *

 

"I can handle myself."

Sam ignored it; Dean pushed aside the angel's hand just as casually.

"I said I can handle myself!"

"Yeah, buddy, I'm sure you can," the older hunter grunted, rolling his eyes behind Thaddeus' back.

"You can't stitch yourself up, man, just relax," Sam added with a hint of frustration in his voice, "Dean - get the sigils up, I've got this."

Dean nodded, letting go.

"Wait, what sigils? I'm not a prisoner here - I'm a _guest_ , I should be treated as such," Thaddeus argued; his eyes flashed towards the door and he seemed to make an attempt to move up, but his vessel was weak and the wound that they'd just moments ago revealed from underneath the jacket, which was now cast aside on the nearby chair, was flashing blue.  
The angel grimaced, hissed and leaned back down, and Sam pressed a towel over the worst injury without paying attention to the words. He hoped his brother might take up the argument; he had no desire to, and his gut told him he didn't like this angel at all. It was enough that he'd been a torturer, but his attitude had been the same all the way from the car: he clearly considered himself too important for them, and Sam had had enough of self-important angels for one life. Of course just when he'd managed to circle in only the ones he got along with and who more importantly got along with _him_ , one of those that truly fit the title of a winged dick had to walk into his life. He could have done without, but a promise was a promise.

"You'll get the treatment we give you. Just think that we're doing this _for_ you, because if you start wandering around, you'll die," Dean replied lightly to Sam's relief.  
He unpacked the spray can and grimaced as he looked at the walls.  
"Shame to destroy a good paint."

"Just do it, Dean," Sam grunted in return.

"Fine, fine."

Sam had seen the man whom Thaddeus had possessed before. He remembered the face from magazines, and perhaps it added to his discomfort, but when he cleaned and sealed the wounds that demanded it, all to the sound of the angel huffing as if his work was unnecessary and a bother, he couldn't help feeling like this wasn't right. His hands still did what his mind had set for them as if there was no hesitation in him; he made his work as quick and clean as he could, like for anyone who was in need. The angel persistently looked away from him, his hands and from the bed in the first place, and his eyes seemed to trace the wall upon which Dean didn't need to paint anything. Sam wondered if he was locking away the increasing confinement from his mind and suddenly realised it might indeed make him uncomfortable; he'd not been a prisoner, but he sure knew what went on in the cells and what happened to those whose freedom was taken. This was a prison to him, a comfortable cell for him to recover in but a cell nonetheless while the rest of them carried on on the outside of it, and whether he ever walked out was in the hands of others - it had to raise an uncomfortable doubt in the torturer's mind, regardless of whether he'd personally suffered in the past.

Thaddeus didn't instill any empathy, however, or at least he worked hard to keep it at bay. When Sam was nearly done, cleaning the last of the now stitched cuts in the male's body, the angel pushed his hands away with unnecessary force and sneered.  
"You're done. Now leave."

"He's not your servant, you ass," Dean hissed from the door where he was finishing the second to last of the sigils.

"You should show me some respect, human."

"Look, I don't show respect to anyone who doesn't deserve it just because they can flaunt some God mojo. _I'm_ in control here. I'm not afraid of you and you haven't quite realised that it's _you_ who should show some respect, to me, my brother and every other living thing that so much as gazes at you without stabbing you in the face. Sam, throw me a new spray can."

Sam slid off the bed, threw the bloody towels aside and the hook and the string and wrapped them up together; he cast the whole bundle into the bag and grabbed the can with his bloody hands before throwing it to Dean.  
Dean caught it from air and grimaced at the bloodstains on it.

"Thanks," he said anyway and Sam huffed with a hint of amusement.

The younger looked back at the angel and examined him and his closed-off expression for a while, until Thaddeus looked back at him and his eyes felt like a razor cutting into Sam's flesh.  
"He's right," Sam said then, standing up and grabbing the bag from the floor to hang it from his shoulder, "We don't owe you anything, but you owe us a lot already. So maybe it's you who needs to show respect, Thaddeus."

"You mingle freely with filth. God's children or otherwise, I owe you nothing."

"Just the shelter, the chance to heal, actually - wait - _your whole extended lifespan_. No biggie," Dean interrupted over the sound of the paint spraying.

"Nobody's telling you to be our friend, or an ally. I'm just saying that there's a balance of powers here," Sam added.

Thaddeus raised his head although his skin was turning white again; Sam imagined it had a lot to do with the way he was wasting his strength spitting insults at them rather than saving it for healing himself. He didn't have much to spare.  
"I watched you kill me, boy. Nothing but a mindless, obedient meatsuit for a traitor to wear, and your blood - it _reeks_. It's _tainted_. Your whole body is a -"

Sam didn't get the chance to hear what his body was; Dean was there like a flash across the room, blade against the angel's throat and a burning anger in his eyes like he suddenly was burning with fire from the inside.  
"You _shut your mouth_ ," he hissed, pressing the edge into the angel's neck hard enough for any movement to cut the skin, "You shut your mouth or I'll shut it for you and make sure it stays so."

The torturer moved away from the blade, eyes glaring into Dean's, mouth pressed into a thin slit. They battled that way for a moment until Sam lowered his hand over the shoulder of his brother's.  
"It's not worth it, Dean. C'mon. Dinner's gone cold by now."

"Screw dinner, Sam!"

The younger chuckled, now pulling where his hand had previously only held. He shook his head when Dean finally looked at him, eyes still full of embers.  
"I'd rather eat it, to be honest. Really, leave him be, he's all bark anyway. A couple hours alone will do him good."

Slowly - hesitantly - Sam saw Dean put out the fires and rein in the anger. He scoffed and grunted as he finally moved back and stood back on his feet, blade returning underneath his flannel where he'd kept it to be safe, although the first thing Gadreel had told him when he'd found him in the kitchen had been that Thaddeus was unarmed and would not fight them in this condition. He'd been right.

"Goddamnit. _Fine_."

"Come on," Sam uttered and motioned the older to follow, "Let's get back downstairs."

The moment the door closed, the taller let out a sigh of relief and Dean growled like an angry dog.  
"What a _dick_."

"Yeah. Tell me about it."

"Are you serious that I can't stab him? That we have to _feed_ him?"

"Look, I don't like it either."  
Their steps echoed in the corridor.  
"But we're not making exceptions unless Cas specifically says that we make one."

"I'm calling him. I'm gonna beg him for a permission. Man, my hands are _itching_."

"Dude, you can't stab away every problem," Sam huffed, skin crawling.

"No, but this one I sure as hell could."

"Leave it."

The stairs led them down where, to their surprise, the table was already all set with plates and glasses and utensils. Charlie was carrying a pot and Gadreel had the other; they both cast looks in the direction of the brothers when they appeared in the doorway, eyes soon turning to Sam's bloody hands.

"I... think I'm gonna - go wash quickly," the man chuckled awkwardly, spinning around on his heels.  
He heard Dean mutter something to wish him off but didn't stop to hear from the rest; his steps took him down another corridor and into a large bathroom, the one that they often used after hunts. The light in the ceiling was flickering in the way old lamps tend to when they're about to go off, and Sam hoped it'd last at least another week still - or that Dean would go and buy a new lamp for it so that he wouldn't have to, although it was a slim hope. Somehow it was strange that he had to worry about these things even now, but he'd become something of a shut-in and the bunker was his realm: he had to take care of the lights, the peeling paint and everything that was falling apart because if he wouldn't, no one would. In a way it was comforting: tinkering with the air conditioning or the leaking bathroom equipment was something like meditation for him. Changing lamps wasn't. Changing lamps was inconvenient and bad news for his tense shoulders.  
He washed his hands in the weak lighting and escaped before the lamp blew off, heading back towards dinner although his appetite was even worse than it had been. His whole conscious mind was busy trying to deflect the inevitable downfall from Thaddeus' words and where he'd earlier been set to create at least an illusion of an appetite he now had nothing to patch the nauseating void with - he'd just need to eat _something_ , anything, and that would have to do; at least it would be better than the nothing that he craved.

When he sat down to accept a cup already filled for him, his eyes picked the sight of Gadreel watching him keenly from across the table. He smiled - he couldn't help it - but at the same time he wondered what he was really looking at. Was it Gadreel at all, or an elaborate copy of him? He'd performed the spell when the male had entered the bunker, but who knew if the spell would react the same way to a cloned grace as it would to the original - somehow Sam doubted anyone had ever tried it before. And that was only the very tip of the iceberg they were now facing. What was it that was raising angels from death all over the globe, God or something else? Did it have anything to do with Hell? The list went on, but for reasons that now only served to make Sam feel more nauseous than he already was, only the first one seemed to hold sway over him.

Dean cleared his throat and leaned over towards Gadreel, snapping them out of the eye contact they'd had. Gadreel turned towards him with a questioning, a somewhat scared look on his face as if expecting to be told off; Sam lifted his brows and tried to catch Dean's attention to get a clue what he was about to do, but Dean was fully concentrated on making Gadreel uncomfortable and Sam had to settle to be a spectator for it. Charlie glanced at him, brows raised as well, but he couldn't offer her any more answers than he had for himself.  
"So, Gadreel," Dean started, "How's it feel like to be, um, fresh from the dead? See, we've been doing research while you were out there and Charlie was fixing our map, and we've landed on an interesting theory."

"Dean -" Sam started, suddenly terrified now that Dean had clearly been thinking the same things with him and come to the conclusion that asking questions at the dinner table was the best way to go about it.

"Better to get it over with, Sam. I know you're as curious as I am, and he's our best lead," the older noted with a tone of casual disinterest without ever lifting his eyes off of Gadreel, "You said you remember everything until you black out, isn't that right, Gadreel? Marching up to Heaven and then boom, blackout."

"Yes, that -"

"Is it really everything? You remember how you felt, you remember all the situations you were in prior to then, and you're absolutely certain all of that happened to you - it feels real, right?"

The angel hesitated. His posture changed, straightened, and his chin lifted and his eyes sharpened although the expression on him remained mostly confused and slightly terrified.  
"Yes," he answered almost mechanically, "I remember everything."

"Uh-huh."  
Dean paused to draw back; he cut off a half from a potato on his plate, swirled it around in the sauce and stuffed his mouth with it. That didn't stop him from resuming right after, however, and he went back to it with his mouth full.  
"So," he continued, "You're one hundred percent sure that you're _you_."

"I... am," Gadreel replied, looking only further confused by the strange questions - Sam didn't blame him.

"So," Dean went on after swallowing, "You'd say you're certain that it's not possible that those memories you have aren't genuine; you're one hundred percent _you_ , the _exact same you_ that died in 2014?"

"Dean, come on," Sam tried, but Dean dismissed him with a halfhearted gesture of his hand, still staring at Gadreel.

"I am not lying," Gadreel replied carefully but confidently, "I have no idea what else I could be, or why you are asking me these questions, but I have not changed, I am the same as I have always been."

"See, that's what bothers me. You say you don't remember how you died. Only Cas and that other angel would know it, wouldn't they. So what if you don't remember that because those particular memories couldn't be moved to you, since no one was there to witness -"

"I _do_ ," Gadreel uttered, now looking more than slightly distressed, "remember my death. I simply did not wish to linger upon that particular memory, as it holds no value in finding out how I returned. I am sorry that I lied about it, but I do remember it to the last detail although I wish that I did not - I wish I could confess to you that I am not myself, that I am someone new who did not commit the crimes that I did and who did not live through all that I have, but I am not, I am simply myself; all that I've done, all that I've lived is my history, no one else's. I do not know why you would question this."

Dean raised his brows.  
"You lied to us."

"He - didn't, really," Sam uttered, "He told me. I told him he can keep it."

Finally the older turned towards Sam.  
"Seriously?"

"Yeah," Sam grimaced, "It wasn't relevant until now, I guess."  
He'd often wondered if he really was the one who broke against the rule of no secrets the most: the way Dean looked at him made him feel guilty to his core and he couldn't help but wonder how the man would look at him if he knew the full truth. But perhaps he did - perhaps all that blame was hidden behind the disappointment in him now, because all that he'd spoken the past few days did tell Sam that even if the details escaped him, he was fully aware of the darkness that lurked hidden within the younger's mind. Now he let out a sigh and shook his head, finally leaning over back to his own side. He stuck his fork into a piece of meat and devoured it with a dissatisfied look on his features.

"Well," he said then, gulping water to down the meat with, "I guess that's that, then. Gadreel is Gadreel as far as we can possibly prove it, and we can start worrying about something less... disturbing."

 

* * *

 

"So, that was smooth," Sam sighed when he hit the bed and landed on it on his back.

Gadreel closed the bedroom door behind them; something about Sam's room made him feel easier, like he'd just escaped interrogation and returned home.  
"What was that all about?" he asked, his voice concerned.

"Don't worry about it, he was just testing a theory."  
Sam glanced up at Gadreel and motioned him to the bed, and the angel followed him there, sitting down on the edge once he reached it.  
"We read up on a tablet that might be able to create things, living things, and wondered if it might, you know, be able to recreate things that already existed."

"A tablet."

"Yeah. You ever heard of a thing like that?"

Gadreel frowned. Then, slowly, he shook his head.  
"I am sorry," he said, "I did not deal with the Word; that was Metatron's duty. He was the scribe and the keeper of the Word and I do not know what came of the tablets when he left Heaven, as I was not witness to it. Sam..."

"Yeah?"

The sentry gazed forwards at the door ahead of them and fought; on one hand, it was not for him to ask questions, but on the other, he'd been granted permission to inquire should he feel that way. Now he did - perhaps it was the presence of Thaddeus nearby him, but he longed for more control over himself than what he'd submitted to before. He braced himself, trying to remind himself that he was welcome with Sam and the younger had so far not once done anything but encouraged him to speak his mind and ask if something bothered him.  
"I apologise if it's not my place," he began slowly, "but I would rather know which theory your brother was after. It made no sense to me but it concerned you as it concerned him, and I would wish to have the context - if for nothing else then at least so that I could be mindful of it in future. I do not wish to raise any doubts about my loyalty or who I am."

"It's - ugh. It's about the tablet. We - found this book which described a tablet that could theoretically make living copies of things that are dead; it's just that... we have to look at the options."

"So you were concerned I was... a replica of myself."

"Yeah, basically. I mean, I'm not sure how you can test that; if you have your memories, then -"

"Sam," Gadreel huffed with some warmth in his tone, "The grace of an angel cannot be replicated. We are unique. We are not bound to DNA that could be copied. Only God can create an angel, and no Word holds the knowledge for making one anew, not even out of one who already existed."

The younger raised his eyes to Gadreel's and smiled.  
"That's relieving to hear."

"I suppose so."

Sam stayed quiet for a moment and Gadreel watched the small lingering smile on him; he sighed contently and his hand crossed the space between the two of them, pressing over Gadreel's in a reassuring manner although Gadreel did not know which one of them was the one in need of reassurance.  
"It was a stupid theory," he finally chuckled, shaking his head, "but after you've dealt with shapeshifters and skinwalkers and wendigos and every other creature out there that can pretend to be someone else, or recreate themselves _as_ someone else, you just... don't want that to happen with someone you let close to you. I don't know what'd be the difference between you and an exact copy of you exactly but... let's just say that's a question I don't ever want to come face to face with."

Gadreel nodded.  
"I understand your concern. It is easier for me, I suppose, as I am granted vision beyond what you have; I would know if you were not you, yet I am not beyond imagining the horror that comes with not knowing. I know that I am myself and I hope that will ease your mind at least a little."

"It does, actually."  
Sam's eyes shifted towards the doorway that Gadreel had watched earlier and he seemed lost in thought - his hand stayed upon Gadreel's and the sentry realised he was happy for the comfort it offered.  
"So... how are you doing?" the hunter finally asked.

"Is there a specific reason that you are asking?" the sentry returned the question.

Sam nodded.  
"Thaddeus."

A sigh left Gadreel's lips and he thought the question over for a while before answering.  
"For the time being," he began slowly, "I would rather pretend that he is not here, yet I do feel his presence even if it is weakened and held by the sigils. I also feel the sigils; they do not affect me but I cannot escape the knowledge that they have been painted within these walls. You might call that discomfort - they create a similar aura to this place as was cast over the prisons, and to have both that and Thaddeus here, I cannot say I am comfortable."

"But you can ignore it?"

Gadreel nodded.  
"For now," he promised, "As long as I have no reason to go near his room. I hoped I would meet Castiel today to ask if there would be any other solution to our issue, but since he is drawn to other business, this is what we must deal with."

"Yeah," Sam huffed in turn, his hand finally parting from Gadreel's as he lay back onto the bed and aimed his gaze towards the ceiling, "He's not the kind of a guest..."  
His voice trailed off and died to a drawn sigh. Gadreel closed his eyes and concentrated on the feel of the man beside him, and a small smile fought its way onto his lips.

"Sam, may I ask something of you?" he finally spoke after some time had passed in silence.

"Yeah, sure."

"You told me I was to make my room my own, yet I do not know how to start. I was wondering if you could offer me a hand."

A chuckle escaped Sam as he pulled himself up again; he slipped off the bed and offered his hand to Gadreel.  
"That sounds exactly like the kind of a thing I need to take my mind off of today. Come, there's some stuff downstairs in the storage - it's old, mostly from the fifties and earlier, but there might be something that you'd like to have, so it's a place to start from, right?"

Gadreel took the hand offered to him and allowed Sam to pull him up although he most certainly needed no help with it.  
"Thank you."

"You need to stop thanking me for everything, you know."

The older smiled as they exited the room, hands parted but still walking side by side.  
"It seems my nature to do so. I am not used to the kind of kindness that you show me, Sam, and I would apologise if I did not know it bothers you the same."

Sam laughed.  
"Maybe you'll get used to it eventually," he said lightly, fingers sliding down the older's arm, "or maybe I'll get used to you before then."

"Angels are creatures of habit; I hope that you are quicker to adjust than I am likely to be."

 

* * *

 

 

Sam touched the older frequently, as if to make sure he truly existed - his touched lingered, but in fear of breaking boundaries, the same ones he'd made sure to establish the night before, none of them were invasive. When they found a patchwork quilt, he took Gadreel's hand in his own and guided it to the fabric: he taught the older to feel it with his skin instead of simply taking note of it.

"Close your eyes."

Their fingers ran along the seams and over the patches and from fabric to fabric; when Sam pulled their hands back, he made sure to do slowly to show the angel how loss of sensation felt, unsure if his lessons went unlearned but hopeful that they wouldn't be wasted. He let go again, as if it had been a friendly touch, and asked the question - how about that? - before smiling as the older nodded. They took the quilt and planted it as the bottom of a pile that slowly came to be as they moved through the things available. On top of it landed a small, rather worn carpet by Sam's choosing and three decorative pillows that they both agreed looked like something a person might have in their bedroom; they spent some time digging into the oddities of the storage even after the pile was seemingly finished, but when they climbed back upstairs, the time wasted felt as if it had rejuvenated Sam. The room looked more lived in after the things were placed inside it: the quilt gave a different look to the bed than the plain cover had done, and the carpet felt soft under their feet. The pillows were thrown on the bed and one onto the chair, literally; Sam had to throw the last one thrice to make it fall neatly onto the chair. Gadreel watched him quietly, without asking why he would not simply lay it on the chair like a normal person - it was a good sign, and when Sam looked back at him expecting a questioning stare, he got a small smile instead.

"May I ask you another question?" the angel started, and Sam had to swallow down an instinctive 'you just did'.  
Instead of speaking it, he nodded. Gadreel turned his gaze towards the bed and seemed to think over the wording, and while he did so, Sam invited himself to sit on the quilt-covered mattress. He watched the older as he thought and their eyes met, but the smile on the male had died down and he looked concentrated instead.

"I was wondering how you have felt with me these past days," the sentry finally spoke, "You've seemed... happy with my company."

Sam felt his mouth curve into a smile instead.  
"You're not far off," he noted, but the real answer was both longer and more complicated.  
He thought for a while before continuing; Gadreel seemed to sense that he wasn't quite finished and waited in silence, his eyes staying upon Sam's form the whole time although the point of focus shifted every now and then. Sam kept looking at him in turn and the smile on him still lingered - he felt oddly proud of himself when the older was looking at him, it made him feel appreciated, as Gadreel looked at him like there was nothing he would rather be resting his eyes upon. Their eyes met again and Sam's smile caught back onto the older.

"I want to take back something I said to you earlier," Sam finally continued, "It - I guess I meant it at the time, but I shouldn't have said it the way it came out. I _am_ your friend, Gadreel, and I never meant to say that I wasn't; I just... didn't want you closer. I feared I was letting you too far in. It still scares me."

Slowly, the angel nodded.  
"I understand that," he said and sounded certain that he did; Sam nodded in turn and let out a small sigh as the weight lifted from his shoulders.  
"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For being my friend. For everything, but foremost the fact that you treat me with such kindness and have always done, regardless of my failures and the pain I've caused you, sometimes on purpose. For... believing that I can be better. It makes me want to try harder to be worth your faith. It is still a long way to go but I feel good here with you as we are," Gadreel spoke.  
He ran his hand over the quilt and sat beside Sam on the bed, and Sam didn't readjust when the bed tilted his body against Gadreel's. The warmth of him felt calming.  
"Even when you speak harshly to me, you are only truthful, and your honesty - while it can be painful - reminds me to be so with you as well."

"I'm keeping a lot of things," Sam noted with another sigh.  
"I just don't know how to say them."

"Perhaps it is not the right time for those words yet."

The hunter let out a soft huff and closed his eyes.  
"I hope that's all it is."


	18. The Weirdest and The Worst

* * *

 

Dean raised his eyes from the laptop's screen as Sam entered the room, but the younger still cleared his throat as if to signal there was a reason he was there and that it had to do with Dean's presence. The older closed the laptop, picking up on his brother's entrance, and his eyes turned sharp but open, expecting.

"Where's, um, where's Charlie?" Sam asked, seating himself a few chairs over from Dean.

"Went out a while ago," Dean replied with a shrug, "to look for some parts for who knows what. You need her gone?"

Sam chuckled.  
"No, it's - it's good. I just wondered if we have a moment without being disturbed."

"Well, you've got that. What is it?"

There was a hesitant silence during which Dean pushed his laptop even further away on the table. The pause was eventually broken as Sam turned his eyes away and breathed out the tension that made his whole pose so stiff.  
"I thought I'd let you in," he started, "finally."

"Okay."

They shared a glance, but Sam's head was still turned away and he resumed staring at the floor once he was certain the other was tuned to the conversation they were about to have - and which he still would have rather pushed aside.  
"I'm... not okay. At all," he continued.  
The words faded to nothing: in the quiet that followed, the sound of a clock further away could be heard as nothing else was making any noise whatsoever. When Sam shifted, the fabric of his jeans rubbing against itself seemed the loudest thing in the room.  
"I have nightmares, yeah, but that's... the least of my problems. Most the time, having a nightmare is a bonus, because it means that at least I was sleeping. I have blackouts. I lose track of time. I keep - I keep fearing there's something inside me, Dean, like I'm possessed again, even though... I guess I realistically know that I can't be. When I ask for Cas, he checks me, tells me I'm okay, and that's the only way I can push it under sometimes. Like when we were facing that werewolf and I nearly let it bite me? I was so _sure_ that there was something inside me that if I'd been bitten, it would just... finally come out with it, show itself to me, make me okay again. I kept walking into all those traps on purpose, Dean, it wasn't that I was getting sloppy or off my game, it was that... I was playing a whole different one inside my head. Those hunts weren't my concern anymore. I just needed to know for sure and when I didn't get the answer I needed... I kept going closer and closer to death in any way I could find just to... just to tempt it out of me."

There was a bottomless feeling within Sam's body all of a sudden: he swallowed down a gag and shivered and the tears in his eyes burned with shame, but he ignored it, eyes wildly gazing about the floor as if looking for diamonds within the stone of it. Dean sounded like he was no longer breathing and the discomfort of him was radiating onto Sam as if he was alight with it; the weight of it brushed against Sam's chest and made his breathing difficult.

"It got better when you dropped me off," he continued in a strangled voice, "I thought it'd pass with rest, but... it's been a long time now, and it hasn't, not completely. You said a long while back that I'm looking terrible and I still remember it, because I know I am; I'm too big to eat the way I do, but I can't seem to keep things down anymore. I get sick so damn easily. And just when I think I'm control of it, Gadreel comes back and it sets the whole damn thing off all over again - the nightmares, the insomnia, the feeling that I'm not myself, that something else is inside my skin, and I feel so dirty, Dean, like it's this sensation that I'm filthy all the time no matter how many times I shower or how long I bathe, and it gets worse if I - it gets worse if I eat, too, which isn't helping my appetite. So I just... don't, most the time. You wanted to know, so... this is it. I'm a mess. I've never been more a mess, Dean, and I'm sorry - I'm sorry I couldn't handle this. I'm sorry for... everything. It shouldn't be your problem."

There was a moment of blur: Sam's ears registered the sound of Dean's chair, but the next time he was present again, the older wasn't in it anymore, he wasn't in the whole room. Oxygen seemed to have disappeared from the area just the same and Sam drew in a long shaky inhale to stop the panic rising in his chest, but his palms were already clammy and cold sweat covered his forehead and hands and his chest and back like someone had thrown a bucket of icy water over him. His lungs felt constricted and his heart ached, burned, like there was a knife stuck between his ribs that rubbed about the muscle with each and every pulse of it, and as the horizon started to sway Sam closed his eyes, abandoning his efforts at locating Dean from the room. He let out a sound and leaned his head down, nothing but the sound of his blood flowing covering everything else in the world, and he shook and gasped for air that he didn't feel he could breathe anymore. His fingernails bent against the smooth surface of the table and his toes curled, but the next time he looked, he saw Dean again, walking around the table with a lost look on his face.  
Sam didn't get the chance to get used to that sight before the older had settled down before him and wrapped his arms around his body; the hold was firm and safe and embarrassing and Sam held back like Dean was the only solid thing in the room for him. For the time being, it felt like he was; Dean was the figurative straw that he was holding onto to avoid drowning into the shaking, wavering world that now suddenly seemed so unreal around him.

"It's okay, Sam."

"I'm sorry."

"No, don't - don't. _Breathe_. Goddamnit, Sammy, you need to breathe. Jesus."

"You're... not making it better."

"I don't fucking _know_ how to make it better."

A hoarse laughter escaped Sam and he pressed his forehead into the older's shoulder, shaking; he breathed in the warm scent of Dean's from the shirt of his and the real lack of air made the overall seem less invasive, less horrific, with every inhale that he drew and the exhale that he tried not to hurry.

"Is it working?" Dean asked, his fingers scritching Sam's back in slow, clumsy movements.

"I think it's working. Shit. I'm so sorry. This... I should have... I should have known it'd happen."

"Do you need me to - like - make you some tea or, or whatever it is that Cas does when he finds you roaming the bunker at 3am?"

"That... could actually help. I'm... going to follow you, if that's - I don't - I don't - I can't - I just don't feel I -"

"It's okay. Jesus, Sam, it's your kitchen, too. No one's telling you  _not_ to come into the kitchen with me."

"I'm just -"

"As long as you don't fall over. C'mon. You wanna hold hands?"

"Shut up, Dean."

"That's my boy."

 

* * *

 

Sam sat on the counter while the water boiled. He felt Dean watching him the whole time but couldn't muster the strength to look back at him, so he let the older just stare without knowing what he was thinking; he was too tired to figure it out, but it didn't feel like it was anything good. The tea, on the other hand, tasted like any other; Charlie had brought with her a fresh pack of bagged peppermint, and that was exactly what Dean made him. Afterwards they both sat on the counter, quiet while Sam was drinking.

"So... how messed up you think I am now?" the younger finally asked.

"Pretty messed up," Dean replied in turn and Sam could hear the grimace on him, "but... you know... I'm glad you talked. I mean, it's not like I haven't seen that you're not okay, and it was worse when I didn't know what was wrong with you. Man, I'm _worried_ , I am, but at least I know what's going on now. And I know you're probably ashamed and you think I think you're a freak or whatever -"

"I think you think I'm weak."

"But you're not. Sam, you ain't _weak_. You're a lot of things but that's not one of them. I know that. Hell, anyone who looks at you should know that. I just wish I knew how to help you. I'm not - I don't have most my crap straight either, man, my head's _scrambled_ , but... it's different for me. You go classic crazy. I just drown in the drink and mope for a week straight."

Sam huffed. He raised the cup back to his lips and shivered, but the worst of the attack had passed by then and he felt, if not good, then at least somewhat stable for the time being. The tea warmed him up and helped him regain his sense of reality that had more than just slipped as a result of his confession.

"So... about Gadreel," Dean continued after a moment's silence, "You think it'd help you if he'd leave?"

There was a faint buzzing noise between Sam's ears. He closed his eyes and breathed in the sharp scent of peppermint until it burned in his nostrils and when he opened his eyes, he felt calmer than before closing them.  
"No. I don't think it'd help me," he said.

"Damage done?"

"Something like that. He helps me cope, I guess. It's ironic, but it works."

Dean nodded.  
"Well, I'm glad to hear that."

"Yeah. Hey... when Charlie comes back, could you send her over to me?"

"Sure, I guess."

"I think - I think I'm gonna nap when I'm done with this cup, clear my head a little, but if she comes while I'm still at it, it doesn't matter."

"Girl business to talk about?" the older chuckled, running his hand through Sam's hair in a manner that made the younger feel like he was maybe ten summers old.

"Yeah, I'm about to ask her for dating advice," he grunted grimly and sipped his tea again.

"Alright."  
Dean's voice was warm and the smile on him somewhat resigned.  
"I'll make sure she heads your way before I let her get all into tinkering again. She said she has something to announce tonight before she leaves."

"She's leaving already, huh."

"Tomorrow, I guess. I promised to go with her, there's a book this one hunter has that might be of use to us, I don't know. If you're okay being stuck here with Gadreel and that douche angel, that is. The book can wait."

Sam shook his head.  
"No, I'm good. Get the book. How long do you think you'll...?"

"A day, at most, but overnight anyhow."

The younger nodded with a small smile: even in his exhausted state, he couldn't say no to having a bunker to technically just himself and the sentry. It could work miracles for them to be granted that freedom to be just by themselves - they hadn't had that chance since the very first night, and Sam couldn't help but wonder if it would help him figure them out better than having to sneak around the whole time. Perhaps he'd get some answers for himself.  
"Okay. That's - that's okay. We'll be fine."

"Right. But really, Sam, if you want me to -"

"No, really, Dean. It's _fine_."  
Sam turned a look into the older's eyes and his smile widened.  
"Don't worry about me. I've managed for a year, I'll survive a day on my own. Besides, it could be a lot worse than it is, trust me. I'll keep a watch on the map and be the home team as I usually am and Gadreel can mop the bathrooms for all I care: the point is, I can handle myself. I'll take the day off and just rest if it helps you sleep better."

Dean chuckled, but it wore out to a sigh at the end. He shook his head and slid down from the counter.  
"I guess you don't need to be babied."

"It's the last thing that I need. Just... trust me on this, Dean. Nothing's changed."

"Okay."

 

* * *

 

Gadreel hesitated by the door. He drew in a long inhale through the nose, eyes closed and hand over the door's handle, hoping to find it locked, but when he finally pressed his hand down, the lock clicked open easily as if to mock his wishes.  
The door creaked open, shedding a thin line of light to the dimly lit room; the reading light was on and the room's air was filled with the sickening coppery smell of blood, but Thaddeus wasn't dead. His eyes were open and he stared right at Gadreel in a defiant manner, the only way he seemed to know now, and the sentry made sure to stop the door before it went too far for him to reach for without entering the room and being trapped by the sigils. The last thing he wanted was to be once again imprisoned with the torturer, no matter who of them remained in charge this time around.

"Are you finally here to kill me, traitor?" the younger asked with a mocking tone.

"No," Gadreel said and found his voice calm and collected as if he felt nothing at all as he looked at the pathetic bloody mess that the brothers had put back together - there was blood on the sheets, but nothing in the male was bleeding anymore.  
The sentry wasn't sure if it was good news for him or if he would rather have had the other continue suffering. He sighed heavily and gazed at the corridor just to remind himself that he was free and Thaddeus was not; that was enough of a punishment.  
"I came to see whether you still live."

"I do, as you can clearly see. Do you get some sick pleasure out of it, Gadreel? I bet you do. You think you're so much better than everyone else, but in the end, you're scum."

"I can rest assured that at least I remain above your level, torturer."

"So you _did_ come here to mock me."

"No."  
Gadreel sighed.  
"But you are right; I do feel better knowing that you are the one in chains this time, even if those chains only hold you so that you do not harm yourself or pose a threat to us. It is strange to see, and well worth the displeasure of your company."

"Aww," Thaddeus uttered, "but my presence is not a displeasure at all. I spare my charm for better company than that of deserters."

"Now that is a miracle I do not expect to witness."

"As I said, it's for better company, Gadreel."

A small smile lingered upon Gadreel's lips. There was definitely calm in him. This was justice; this was giving him the satisfaction he hadn't had from killing Thaddeus. He was better than the guardian - he was better than he'd been before when he'd taken the blade to pierce the younger's core. This was _him_ , he could feel it within him; it felt right to stand there and do nothing, yet know that he was the one who did not give in to his hatred. He let out a sigh and his smile grew; he dropped his gaze to the floor, showing that he had no fear for the younger anymore. He was stronger, and he had nothing to be afraid of.  
"I never asked you," he finally spoke, lifting his eyes again and with lightness and real curiosity in his voice, "why you hate me. Yet you've given me enough answers to last a lifetime, even one as long as my own, and I cannot help but wonder how you've gathered so many yet not one of them is true to what I am and who I am. I am not a traitor, Thaddeus, and you of all should know my story; it remains the truth, whether you wish to see it as such or you do not, it does not matter. It is sad that you'd rather trust in your hatred and remain petty and weak instead of growing and changing. You said that I would never change yet I have - the fact that you still breathe speaks for me. But you will not, and I assume that you never will change. It is not my burden to bear."  
He stepped away from the door and gave a long look at the still-lit corridor; he breathed the fresh, warm air in and let his smile fade before he returned to the doorway again.  
"You fit your role. You are cold - I assume that keeps you from compassion, and I pity you, Thaddeus. I have to."

"Spare your words. I have no interest in your pity. You are still the prisoner and I am still higher than you will ever be. I have not been condemned - I have never broken against my orders - and you... the whole of Heaven, the whole of _creation_ knows of your crime."

"Yet I have never broken against my orders any more than you have," Gadreel reminded the younger of the fact that he still believed with everything that he was, "and as I have done to this day, I refuse to plead guilty to a crime I did not commit."

"Your pleads or your refusal to plead altogether have no bearing on the truth, and I care not for your excuses. You should know that by now."

"I do."  
The smile was back on the older's features as he gazed at the weakened guardian. He shook his head slowly, almost amusedly.  
"I hope you will come to realise what it means that I can freely turn from you now, Thaddeus. You hold no power over me. You never will again."

The older's fingers bent around the handle again and he pulled the door closed in front of him. A content sigh left his lips and he turned away from the doorway, heading back towards the corridor from which he'd come from.

 

* * *

 

 

Charlie's eyes were shining. She looked like a breeze of fresh air had brought new life to her altogether as she stood outside Sam's door, and Sam felt like the opposite of her, his hair messy and mind still half asleep from the brief nap he'd managed to take. He smiled at her regardless and stepped aside.  
  
"You wanted to talk?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Cool."

Without hesitation, Charlie invited herself to sit on the older's bed; Sam didn't mind it as he pulled up a chair for himself and seated his too big form over it. He brushed his hair back and yawned, aware of but not bothered by the woman's eyes on him, and a quiet chuckle escaped him when his jaw was no longer preoccupied by the abrupt stretch.  
"So you're leaving already, huh," he opened.

"I'm sorry," Charlie replied with a genuine tone of regret, "Things to arrange back at home. Yeah, I have one now, for real; an actual place. I don't know if I mentioned it before."

"I heard you were renting."

"We're buying, actually. But - um - more on that later, alright?"  
The glow on her only seemed to grow stronger as she spoke, and Sam loved seeing her like that. He nodded, cleared his throat and cast a glance at the closed door as if afraid something would make an appearance through it to listen in on his thoughts.  
"So, what's the - what's on your mind?" Charlie continued after a moment had passed in silence.

"I need outsider insight," Sam admitted with a grimace, "You're about as good as it gets."

"Okay. What's it about?"

"Say there's a relationship you know of."  
He hesitated. How to put it? It was unique; no one else he'd ever heard of had ended up falling in love with someone who'd first possessed them - no one whose situation even remotely resembled his own, anyway. At best, it sounded like Stockholm syndrome, no matter how he formed the sentence.  
"Say it starts with... an angelic possession."

The woman's eyes turned sharper and she leaned in, her elbows digging into her knees as she did so.

"The vessel doesn't know he's a vessel. For - for almost six months, he doesn't know. He never consented, and the one who consented for him, he doesn't tell him. But it's not out of ill will or - no one wants any bad for him, but it's still - it's a violation, right? So he finds out when things go really wrong, throws the angel out. Later, turns out it's... not as simple as that. There's the trauma, for one, but at one point, they have to work together with this angel, and - he does regret what he did to the vessel, what happened, and the vessel gets it, because he saw everything, you know? I - I know everything. And I get him, I do. The thing is, we get along. He's... good, as far as angels go, and he cares, he's able to - he's compassionate, and he's taking responsibility the best he can."

"I'm not the girl to come for friendship advice, you know. I kind of tend to opt out."

"It's not about friendship. I love him."

The woman's lips parted; the sharpness in her eyes turned to surprise.  
"You - you love him."

"Yeah. I think so. But I don't know if that's because he screwed me up in more ways than I can count or because it just happened."

"Damn."

"Yeah. And, uh, Dean and Castiel... they're too close, they're biased. Dean wouldn't have any of it, Cas is just concerned, and I get that, I'm worried too. The thing is, I haven't felt this way in... I haven't felt this way before. I don't only want to trust him but I already do, with everything I am, and I've realised that..."  
The older shifted in his seat and let out a long sigh. It ended with a shrug; he'd realised a lot of things, but most of them came with countering thoughts - fears, doubts. That was why he was there.  
"I just want it to be right, but I'm not sure if it is."

"I'm sorry, Sam."

Charlie slid off the bed and stepped away the distance between them; she brought her arms around the older and Sam embraced her in turn. The usual heaviness pressed him into the hug and he closed his eyes, breathing deep and steady until the younger backed out and fell back on the bed. She watched him closely for a moment and shook her head.

"So... the problem is that you don't trust yourself to not let someone screw you up again."

"Yeah. I guess. I'm - not known for not being easy to manipulate."

"But you've learned. I read the books, remember?"

Sam grimaced, but there was a hint of relief and amusement in it.  
"Yeah, you - you read the books."

"And he's not a douchebag."

"I said that a hundred times about Ruby."

"So do you think he's another Ruby to you? Does he have an agenda, does he keep things from you?"

Sam hesitated. Then, finally, he shook his head.  
"No. I don't think so."

"I can't tell you," Charlie noted, "I'm a lesbian, not a therapist, which might be your salvation because if I was a therapist I'd tell you to get rid of him ASAP."

This time the older laughed.  
"Yeah. I guess that's what I'm expecting to hear."

"Do you want to hear it? I mean, if you're looking for advice to have confirmation that you should get away from him, I can give you that."

Sam shook his head again.  
"I think it's the opposite. I need someone to tell me that it _can_ be alright, but I'm not sure if there's a person like that in the whole world. I just... needed to get it out of my system, I guess. I mean, I want to have this relationship, but I feel like I have to do it in secret, you know? And if I do it in secret, it's... that won't end well. It just won't."

"Yeah, no, I agree. Did you say Cas knows?"

"He kind of found out."

"Damn. He didn't - catch you in the act or anything?"

Sam chuckled.  
"No," he huffed, "but I think he thinks he did, kind of. And on that topic... can I - can I TMI you?"

"Always prepared to hear your dirty secrets, Sam."

"I'm not sure if I want to go there. It really hasn't been a - it really isn't something that's relevant right now. I'm not ready and he's not ready and I don't know if either of us even wants that. I'm not... saying I _don't_ want it, necessarily, but I'm not sure if I do either."

"You like the thought?"

Sam shrugged.  
"There hasn't been much thought on it, really."  
He dropped his gaze to hide the stupid smile he hadn't been quick enough to extinguish before it was already there.  
"I like what I've seen, though."

Charlie laughed.  
"That's a good sign, I guess. But really, considering... it's up to you, Sam, no one else. I wish I could give you a definite answer but I can't, and you know that. I do believe that - as long as you keep your eyes open and stay a bit on your toes about it, you'll know if he hurts you."

"I know I would," Sam sighed, "That's - actually, that's the problem. I _think_ I trust myself enough to go into it, but I know no one else does, so I end up second-guessing everything, like I can't make a decision on my own."

"How's that for a revelation?" Charlie asked him with a crooked smile.

Sam responded in kind.

"So you want that? You want him."

"Yeah."

"And what was the possession all about?"

"He... saved my life. It wasn't about control. It was a mess, but... I don't think anyone intended things to go the way they did. Dean was afraid I'd say no, maybe I would have, so they bypassed that problem and - and I live, thanks to it."

"That's a really sick way to look at it, Sam."

Sam shrugged.  
"I guess."  
He hesitated for a moment; no one had ever told him off for forgiving them before.  
"It's not that I've let it slip. That's the last of it. But I've been through it with both of them now; Dean knows it's not his place and he's paid a price for it, definitely, we all have. Gadreel died to give us a chance and he still doesn't think that's enough repentance for what he did to me. I guess that's about as good as it's going to get for me. What use would it be for me to demand more of them? It won't make it undone. And I never wanted to die. I didn't. So I lived."

"And I'm happy that you do, really," the younger noted with a smile.

Sam tried to respond to it, but didn't quite manage. He sighed instead and pulled up a leg across the other, fingers bending between his toes. Another yawn pushed through him and left him with a real smile that had nothing to do with the conversation.  
"I don't want to be the one who always defends Gadreel, but I seem to be the only one who ever thinks to do it, so that's how it goes. I mean, he did save three lives; mine, yours, Cas' too. By what Dean's told me - by what I remember and what I've gathered - I think he saved my ass up to four times in total. And I never felt... it doesn't excuse anything and what he did to me - I'll never outlive it - but I never once felt like I didn't want him there. I never felt like he was a threat, or that he didn't care. He did. He cared a lot. He still does. The only thing I worry about is if I'm too broken to let him close again."

"The fact that you worry about it would tell me that you're not."

"You think?"

"Don't take my word on it. But you're not broken, Sam, you're just hurt. He didn't break you. Nothing's broken you."

Sam stayed in the eye contact they had for a good long while expecting it to at least falter, but it never did. Charlie watched him keenly and a compassionate, slight smile grew to her lips as she did so; he managed to give her a thankful one in turn.  
"Thank you," he uttered and finally, like letting go of a heavy burden, looked away with relief.

"Anytime, Sam."  
The younger chuckled again and gazed at the ceiling, clearly amused by something that she was trying to drown out, perhaps thinking it inappropriate. Sam squinted at her, a questioning smile on his face, and she looked at him and laughed.  
"Can I point out an interesting thing?" she asked.

"Please."

"It's just that the infamous Winchesters are both in an interspecies relationship with two angels who are also brothers. You can't say that doesn't sound like the weirdest and the worst TV-show you ever heard of... but also really, really appropriate, considering your legacy to date."

Sam laughed.  
"I didn't want to think about that," he admitted.

"Now you can't unhear it."

"No, I really can't."


	19. Some Answers, Some...

* * *

 

They ate together. Gadreel was almost certain he could sense certain tension in the room, but he couldn't trace it to a source, and at the end of the day, it didn't surprise him. Charlie was the one making certain each of them felt at least somewhat comfortable, and midway through the dessert she sat back in her chair and cleared her throat with a smile on her face, cutting off the silence that had fallen as they all had retreated to their own thoughts. Gadreel watched her, but her eyes were on Dean for the main part. From him, she turned towards Sam and finally nodded towards Gadreel as well before crossing her hands upon the table next to her plate and breaking into a full, happy grin.

"Alright, boys. Since I'm about to leave tomorrow, it's time for the official announcement," she began.

"Uhhuh?" Dean replied, brows raised, and Sam let out a small chuckle, shaking his head.

Charlie was radiating with excitement about her news.  
"A wedding. I'm about to get married."

A wedding.  
The news called for drinks, and desserts stretched to an hour; Sam's aura was still bright when his fingertips brushed over Gadreel's hand under the table and he stood, announcing that it was time for someone to bring dinner up to the guest room and then for him to retire for the night. Gadreel followed him into the kitchen where the younger's smile melted away, slowly but surely, and their eyes met for the first time with a certain intent behind the gaze.  
"Dean's leaving tomorrow."

"Where?" Gadreel asked, as it seemed that Sam was not going to continue without being prompted.

The younger shrugged.  
"A hunter promised to lend us a book that might help with the case, or at least give us more info on the tablet. So Dean's going to grab that when Charlie leaves. Which means it's going to be just me, you, and the prisoner."

A hint of a smile crossed Gadreel's lips at the word of choice.  
"Our _guest_ ," he corrected, unable to help himself; the thought of Thaddeus locked up in that bedroom made him feel alive.

Sam chuckled.  
"Our guest," he agreed before sighing.  
His eyes lingered upon Gadreel's form before he spoke again.  
"I'm going to sleep in my own room tonight."

"Alright."

"I think - it'll be good for us to be left here alone. I think it'll be an opportunity, but for today, I'm just... I'm tired, Gadreel, I'm sorry."

"You have no reason to apologise," the angel noted in a tone of bafflement.

Sam flashed a small smile to him before shaking his head.  
"I hope you're not disappointed."

"I am not," Gadreel replied, although he was nearly certain that the weight in his chest was disappointment at its purest.  
He realised that a part of him had been looking forwards to the night throughout the day, and hearing that Sam would spend the night on his own made the hours to come look bleak like an overcast day. It didn't matter; they still had many to come, and by the sound of it, tomorrow would yet be worth looking forwards to.

"You don't need to sleep," Sam continued after a moment's silence.

"No."

"No, I mean - you don't have to lock yourself in the bedroom if you don't want to. The bunker's yours if you want it. I'll find you in the morning," he clarified.

Gadreel considered it. His eyes turned about the stone walls and he imagined the echoing hallways and the empty library, the ghost of Kevin Tran within it as the absence of the sound of turning pages and tired sighs rung loudly within its constraints. When he turned back towards Sam, he had a lost look in his eyes.  
"What would I do?" he asked in a voice that was equally displaced.

Sam shrugged; he leaned back to the counter, shirt climbing up and settling over his chest so that the shape of his muscles and bones was as if embraced by its fabric or as if there was no fabric at all in the first place.  
"Read? Clean up? Rearrange every fiction book by the writer, starting from A and ending in Z? Whatever you want to do."

"And you?"

The younger cast a questioning, almost suspicious look at the angel.  
"I'll be fine. I'll be asleep."

"If you have nightmares..."  
Gadreel's words trailed off. He didn't know how to offer his support, but it seemed that Sam had understood.

For a moment the hunter hesitated - then, as if unwillingly, he smiled again and reached his hand across the distance between them and slipped his fingers between Gadreel's. His thumb ran across the side of the older's palm and he leaned in again, took a step closer bringing their bodies so close that Gadreel could feel his warmth radiate from his skin, and Sam stayed there for a moment just breathing, his gaze upon Gadreel's shoulder and his neck and his ear but never quite in his eyes.  
Then, finally, he looked at the angel himself and nodded.  
"I'll find you," he said again and stepped past the sentry, who let him go even though his whole grace screamed for him to stop the man from leaving.

He listened to Sam grab a plate and some utensils and vanish from the door, but since he had no destination for himself, he didn't go after him, not even to ease the ache in the hollow of him. The kitchen was quiet but at least he'd never spent much time there before - it wasn't haunted by memories that he feared he'd uncover if he'd walk away and stay awake while the brothers and Charlie slept.  
In a few moments, steps from the corridor made him turn around, and the bunker's one woman entered the room. She cast a look at him and carefully closed the door behind her.

"Can I talk to you for a moment?" she asked.

"Of course," the angel replied, although he had no idea why she'd wish for a conversation.

Charlie crossed the kitchen and hopped to sit upon the counter: her hand shoved aside a knife that nearly slipped off the surface, and a small gasp escaped her as she glanced towards the source of the sound. She watched the knife for a moment while Gadreel watched her, and she seemed to think through what she was about to say, yet Gadreel had no idea what to expect of her and a part of him wanted to turn back the time so that he'd have enough time to slip out of the kitchen before she'd ever arrive there.  
He pushed that thought away from his mind and forced himself open to whatever would come next.

"First... I'd like to thank you," the woman finally spoke, "for saving my life. I didn't do that properly before. So... there. Thank you."

The angel smiled; he didn't know how else to respond. Charlie turned to examine him and seemed to approve of his silence, even though Gadreel himself felt it impolite and lacking, and she flashed him a smile of her own in return.

"You possessed Sam," she began then.

Taken aback, Gadreel found himself nodding.  
"I did."

"Against his will?"

Again, the angel nodded, but this time the nod was slow - shame burned him from within, but what was there to deny?  
"I thought it the only way to help him."  
So had Dean.

"So you don't regret it?" the woman asked him, and there was an edge in her voice, a stern sound where she'd before been rather timid and careful.

Gadreel frowned. Did he regret it?  
"It was not my choice to make," he finally stated, "I should not have accepted false consent. But I do not regret saving his life. I cannot regret that."

"You'd do it again?"

The angel hesitated again. He looked away, as if the floor or the door could give him an answer. Then he shook his head.  
"I would give him the choice," he said, turning to look into the younger's bright eyes, "and I would not interfere if he'd choose death."

"If you wouldn't be able to ask him?"

Gadreel shook his head.  
"I need consent to enter a vessel. Even if I did not... I have learned my lesson."

Suddenly, the younger was smiling again and the sharpness in her expression melted away, as if he'd passed some test he hadn't known he was taking part in. He tilted his head as Charlie slipped off the counter.  
"That's all, really," she announced.

"You worry I do not respect his will."

"I love that man, you know," she replied, "He's like a brother to me. I just wanted to know how you felt about him, since he's the one who's sworn for you."  
She watched him for yet another passing moment before reaching some unspoken conclusion.  
"I'm glad we got to meet. You seem like a nice guy."

"Thank you."

"Thanking me for being pleasantly surprised seems - weird, but hey, you're welcome."

 

* * *

 

Sam rolled underneath the blanket and let out a heavy sigh; he reached his hand up to the reading light and turned it off, drowning the room into darkness. His mind was full of noise, words and sentences rushing about and stumbling onto one another so that he had no idea where to take a hold or how to cease the flow - it was a common occurrence, caused by too much agitation and stress in his life at once, and it often hit the worst as it had now in the very moment he needed it the least. He closed his eyes to no difference in his world, as everything remained black as it had been. He'd cast a look at the door of Gadreel's bedroom before entering his own for the one last time, his pillow under his arm and the blanket over his shoulder, and a part of him had already regretted the decision to take a night for himself, but he needed it - he needed it for himself and for the coming day or two he'd spent alone with the other, if only to make certain that it was what he wanted.  
There was something else as well: he trusted it to be the way out of his crowded mind, an escape route as it occasionally was, but the thought of beginning made him nervous, almost anxious. He wasn't sure if he was ready to go there, even in his own mind, and yet another side of him wanted nothing more - excitement lingered within him, settling like a shadow next to his concerns.

As his fingers wrapped around the hem of his old t-shirt, he'd already made up his mind.

"Stop worrying."

The words lingered in the blackness around him as he opened his eyes to the same old; his mouth twitched and he adjusted his head onto the pillow, bucked up his hips and pushed his boxers halfway down his thighs, teeth nipping at his cheeks as he did so. His fingertips brushed through the coarse, curly hair down from his abdomen and he shifted ever so slightly to be approximately straight in the bed. He breathed in slowly and out even slower to relax himself, and with great effort forced away the thoughts of Raphael and resurrected angels and his talk with Charlie and Dean's reaction to his news from his mind, leaving behind a static noise of nothing which was yet infinitely better than the shouting of a thousand voices at once in terrible, all-consuming cacophony. He pressed his palm over his still soft cock, chin lifting and a small huff escaping him as he prepared to rearrange his thoughts; he wrapped his hand around his length and gave it a few strokes, knees parting and legs spreading until he pushed up his hips again as if to come closer to a lover, to feel their flesh press into his own. His other hand dove under the blanket and ran over his inner thighs, drew a line from his hips to his side and back to his navel, and from there he dragged his whole palm up over his chest and as he continued stroking his length into an erection, he pushed his palm against his nipple and closed his eyes again as if to better concentrate.

The hard part was letting the thoughts come in when he'd first chased the previous horde away like a pack of hungry wolves with fire and brimstone. He tried on a fantasy but got only flashes of nude flesh to feast upon; his lips parted and he ran his tongue over them, breath wavering as he took it in. He wasn't sure if it was for some personal revelation, for answers, or because the thoughts genuinely turned him on, but despite the hesitation of his mind he determinedly recalled the way Gadreel's body had felt against his and what he'd looked like undressed to almost nothing - and the answer was overwhelming. His body shook and a gasp escaped him as his grip around his cock tightened; he hadn't expected this, not in the least, but it seemed that allowing himself to think it through was like a floodgate opened. He had his answers: yes, he wanted this.

His lips bent into an almost shy smile, aimed at the darkness ahead, when he allowed his mind to undress the angel before him. Sam had little idea what Gadreel looked like under that last bit of clothing but it didn't matter; the thought alone was enough to send an electric shock throughout his spine. His other hand returned down his body and turned to helping the one that had already been there, and with little effort he concentrated upon the vision he'd called into his mind again.  
It wasn't the first time he'd fantasied about a man. He'd never thought much about it; as far as he knew, everyone did, and it didn't mean anything. This was the first time, however, when he fantasied about someone he'd met and not just made up in his mind, and definitely the first time that he was playing with the thought of taking it out of his daydreams. That made it all the more exciting, the realisation that it was possible that he'd feel all this in reality; the softness, warmth and texture of the older's skin under his palms as he'd touch him to give and gain pleasure for the first time in what felt like a lifetime. It had barely been a week since he'd thought how long it had been for him since he'd last slept with someone, but now he had the chance, at least in theory, and the fact alone could have set him off to an early orgasm. With a breathless chuckle he let go with his both hands, flesh throbbing and eyes open again, and rested his arms over his hip bones while his heart resumed a calmer pace inside his chest.

Sam loved the thought of bringing his body over the older's hips. He could almost feel his thighs press over Gadreel's, his hard length resting over the angel's, and he wondered if it should have set something else off inside him - he couldn't feel the slightest tint of anxiety anymore, just excitement and need, the desire to pull on his pants and go find the older downstairs so that he could get what he wanted right there and then. With a halt in his breathing he asked himself if he'd invite the male inside him now when he'd already turned the idea down once, and it was then that he felt the expected hesitance inside him, perhaps with a hint of distinctive fear settled right beside it. He discarded the thought but ran his left hand down between his legs, finger tracing the shape of his body pressing against the bed. With a discontent sound he turned on his side and had almost reached a hand to the bedside table when he reconsidered; seconds ticked by before the tension in him wore off and he continued, pulled open the drawer and fumbled about until his fingers had bent around the tube of cream he'd mainly used for its intended purpose, but which he knew by experience to serve well enough for what he needed it for now.

It didn't make him feel as guilty as he'd expected. He slipped a finger inside his body, dragging his legs that much further apart to make way for his hand to better fit in the space offered; his eyes traced blindly at the blackness of the ceiling although by now he was already able to make apart the seams by the walls, mind as heavy as his breathing was, lacking in its capacity to hold together the reality around him as it concentrated upon the one he'd created for himself. Perhaps he didn't want a man inside him, but his fingers knew what they were doing, and he returned his other hand back over his length to give it what it ached for; relaxation turned his body warm and his breathing remained steady even as his heart picked up its pace again.

He wasn't sure if this was what Gadreel needed, only that it had seemed likely when their kisses had turned more heated, more needy, and he hadn't felt alone with the way he'd responded to the changes. But if something was clear, it was that he did know that _he_ needed this - he needed the closeness, the excitement, the intimacy of skin on skin. It hardly mattered now if it would be tomorrow or if it would be a month, two months, five months from then; the only thing that he cared about was that he did hold this need within him and it drove his movements and choked his breath as his back arched to feel closeness with someone who was not there. It had been long since he'd last enjoyed touching his own body, and even longer since he hadn't feared he was being watched as he did so, but here he felt safe and hell if he wasn't making the most of it. He dug a pit into the pillow with the back of his head and allowed small sounds past his lips just to hear how much he truly enjoyed the flashing visions in his mind, the imagined touches, the sounds he'd almost heard the angel make but not quite in the way that he now associated them, and his hips rocked into his grip and then forwards to take his bent finger that much deeper inside, both ways charging him with waves of pleasure that intensified towards a familiar end. He welcomed it with a quiet, long, dragging breath; his hands relaxed, grip loosened, his hips returned upon the mattress and beside the one finger that was hopefully keeping the blanket off from the worst of the mess, nothing in him was tense and his mind was quiet like the midnight hour. As his heartbeat settled, he pushed off the blanket from his body and rose up from the bed, limbs trembling, to clean up; his every breath was shaking with his body when he finally lay back down and curled up for the night, already half-asleep but oddly content and confident.

He'd needed this.

 

* * *

 

Gadreel wandered aimlessly in the corridors for the few first hours of the night after Dean had grudgingly granted him the permission to stay wherever he wanted - as long as it wasn't anywhere near Sam's, or Dean's own, bedroom. The angel had wished him a good night with no bitterness in his voice although he couldn't cover the hint of sadness from his smile; Dean had waved him off and retired at midnight.

Around two in the night Gadreel had failed to resist the urge, and he'd retraced his steps to Thaddeus' bedroom. He'd peered inside and found the angel asleep, aura still weakened but notably brighter than it had been up until then. With a certain sense of nausea stuck swirling inside his stomach, the sentry had closed the door again as if he'd never opened it in the first place, and a creeping discomfort had followed him back into the library. The rest of the night he'd done everything Sam had suggested; he'd started with cleaning up, then moved to organizing the books, and by chance he'd landed upon one that he'd curiously started looking through until it was no longer simply looking but reading. He'd stayed with that book until footsteps had shaken him back to the real world.

The younger Winchester looked pale as he stepped into the hall. He had a hand stuck in his hair and some redness around his eyes, and his eyes looked lost as he sought Gadreel from the corner to which he'd retired. Relief seemed to flood over him however once he located the angel, and his steps towards the angel were decisive and moved him across the distance between them faster than Gadreel had expected.  
Without words the hunter sat down next to the older and then, as if sated by merely his presence, he lowered his head into his hands and breathed so slowly and with such weight bound to each breath that for a moment Gadreel thought he'd simply been sleepwalking. Then, almost like his head now suddenly weighted more than it had before, Sam finally raised his eyes again and cast a blank look towards the wall on the opposite end of the hall.  
"I woke up thinking..." he uttered to no one in particular, then suddenly fell quiet and kept staring across the room like something had cut his thought entirely.

Gadreel closed the book in his hands and put it aside, concern heavy within his chest. The motion stirred Sam to look at him instead.

"I woke up thinking I finally caught it. The thing inside of me. Sleep paralysis. It's not the first time. But I thought - this time, I thought - that I was under its control."

The angel tilted his head, brows knitting together.  
"I do not understand."

Sam ignored him, but he had tears in his eyes and Gadreel could smell the fear on him - it was coming stronger now, like the memory alone was enough to bring the panic back.

"I think I'm possessed."

The silence was louder than Gadreel remembered. He felt his lips parting.  
"Your soul is the only energy I sense within you," he said then slowly.

Sam nodded. He buried his head in his hands again and this time Gadreel realised he wasn't breathing so slowly because he was still tired, but because each inhale and exhale was conscious and calculated to keep the natural fear response from escalating into full-blown panic.  
"Cas kept telling me."  
The man shivered, and a sound like a hiccup cut off his inhale.  
"That I'm alone. I don't believe him. I don't believe you. I don't believe anyone. I feel it in me, I can feel it move, sometimes I can hear it think. I know, consciously, that you're right. There's nothing in me. But it doesn't convince me, because I still _believe_ \- I still believe otherwise."

Gadreel didn't know what to say. Instead, he brought his hand clumsily over Sam's only to have the younger jump at the feel and draw back from the touch. The sudden movement ended with Sam wiping his face as if he hadn't intended to escape Gadreel's touch, as if he'd not even noticed it, but always intended to just clear off some stray hair from tickling his face, from sticking to his sweaty skin.

"I'm sick," he finally said, and for the first time his eyes met Gadreel's and there was depth inside them that made the angel hurt, "I don't think I'm getting better. And sometimes, like tonight, I can't stop thinking - it'd be better if I - I want to let go. I don't want to wake up tomorrow. I don't - I don't want... anymore. I just want it out of me, the sickness, all of it; the scars and the memories and - all. I'm tired of being inside this body that doesn't feel like it's ever been mine in the first place."

The sentry noticed he'd held his breath, but when he let it flow again, he was aching like after torture.  
"Did I do this to you?" he asked, and his voice, instead of being filled with the pain that he felt, was empty like it had been when he'd repeated the truth of his past to deaf ears.

Sam looked at him still, and now a small smile crossed his lips. The younger shook his head.  
"I never had a chance," he said, "I was born to end up like this."  
He shifted and, to Gadreel's surprise, brought his hand to join with the older's.  
"You're the first thing to happen to me in a long while that even remotely gives me hope that - that things could be different. I'm so used to looking around me and seeing other people move on. I'm so used to being stuck myself and just watching the world change that I forgot it could happen to me. So I don't blame you. For anything. You make it better. You... really make it better."

The hunter drew breath and closed his eyes.  
"I talked to Dean yesterday. I don't know what difference it made. He'll treat me like I'm a bomb about to go off at any minute; he's scared and he doesn't know how to deal with me. I know he wants me to get over it and be stronger, but I can't - I've tried. I'm _always_ trying."

He breathed out and the angel picked up the distinctive, sharp hint of acid in the air; he'd thrown up, from fear or by purpose, and that explained the cold of his body and the sickly appearance on him that seemed to stem from more than just the emotional distress. The green of his eyes was still bright, however, when he opened his eyes and looked at Gadreel.

"Would you come back to sleep with me?" he asked, voice fragile.

The angel nodded.  
"If I can offer you any comfort," he replied, but his tone was conflicted and hesitant.

"I think you're about the only thing that can," Sam said, shivering.  
"You kept the dreams away for two nights and that's more than anything else has done so far. I feel safe with you. Safer than anywhere or with anyone else. Because - I think it's because - I had you watch over me before. Maybe it's conditioning, I don't care. It's the only thing that works. And I - I want to..."  
He seemed afraid to finish the sentence, but before he stood up, he straightened his posture and directed a sharp, clear, decisive look into Gadreel's eyes.  
"I want to be close to you. _Because_ I want to be close to you. That's all."

The words warmed the angel and soothed over some of the pain he felt for the younger.  
"Then I will come with you," he promised.


	20. Reverence

* * *

 

Gadreel felt a strange relief spread within him as Sam slipped underneath the blanket they now shared and curled up next to him. The man seemed determined to ignore the angel's usual hesitation at taking initiative, and he brought Gadreel's arm over his side on his own - a small, satisfied sound left him as the older pulled him closer and held him against his own body.  
The smell of acid had made way for fresh mint; Gadreel had waited inside Sam's room as the other had prepared himself for sleep all over again. Night was already ending and it would only be a couple hours until the alarm would go off but Sam didn't seem concerned about it as he settled to rest beside the sentry. His breathing quieted down but Gadreel sensed he was awake for a long while before finally giving in to rest - the angel himself closed his eyes to let time pass as he stayed beside the warmth of Sam's, feeling and tracking his every movement, every sound he made, to make sure he faced no dangers in his sleep, not even those that only existed within his mind.

From deeper in the bunker, Gadreel sensed the muffled ringing of another grace, but he only tracked it to a point where he could be certain it did not move away from the room that confined it. It was enough for him to know exactly where Thaddeus was but he felt no need to try and figure out anything else about him, even though he could have known much, perhaps even connected to him. The further he stayed from him, unless by his own choice, the better.

At seven in the morning, Sam only shifted enough to turn off the alarm: he snuggled closer to Gadreel, his arm reaching over the male's side and resting there as he drifted back asleep without so much as a word exchanged between them, but soon enough Dean's footsteps in the corridor roused the man from his sleep and he sat up, waiting for the older to announce himself. Gadreel waited with him until a stern knock sounded from the door.

"Sammy?"

"Wait here," Sam muttered, his hand brushing gently through Gadreel's hair before he stood up and went to answer the door.

Gadreel turned, watched him slip out of the door and greet Dean in the corridor: their shapes blocked the view into the corridor from the small space provided between the door and its frames.

"I can't find Gadreel," Dean greeted the younger.

"Yeah," Sam replied, "I got up earlier to grab a glass of water, told him he could take a walk if he wanted to. That was - maybe an hour ago. I'd say he's still out."

So much for the policy of only speaking the truth, Gadreel thought, but he could understand why Sam chose to break it well enough; explaining why they shared the bed was most likely a conversation he'd rather have on a better day.

"Well, call me if he doesn't show up, and even if he does, just - call me. I'm meeting Charlie in ten, we'll be off on the same go, so if anything happens, that's your best bet."

"We'll be fine," Sam promised, and Gadreel heard the grimace in his voice, "Let me know when you know when you'll be back, okay?"

"Yeah, sure. And, hey, Sammy..."

"Yeah?"

The angel saw their shapes merging; Dean's arms wrapped around Sam's body and he held the taller tight for a moment before the embrace broke and he stepped back again.  
"Nothing. Sorry for waking you up again."

"No, I'm glad you did."

"Okay."

"I hope the book turns out to be something," Sam continued the dying conversation.  
Afterwards, neither spoke for a moment.

"You know," Dean started over again, "it still feels unnatural to leave without you. I miss you on the road, man."

"I know."  
Sam lifted his hand and placed it over Dean's shoulder, and even though his back was facing towards Gadreel, the angel knew he was smiling.  
"I'll be right here when you get back. Don't worry about me."

"Right. Well. I'll be off, then."

"Good luck."

"You too, man."

One of them parted, left; Sam let out a sigh as he turned around and returned inside the bedroom, closing the door behind him again. He turned on the lights and wandered off to his table for a moment, shifting through some papers and turning on the computer before straightening up again and looking at Gadreel. He smiled, and Gadreel answered the gesture: he'd sat up during the conversation but leaned back to a half-lying position when Sam approached him. The younger climed on the bed, then on top of him, and kissed him; his hands pressed over Gadreel's face and he kept him there as his lips caressed over and over the older's mouth, and Gadreel responded to it with curiosity and a feeling of pressure growing inside his chest. Afterwards, Sam leaned back to sit on his thighs, long t-shirt covering up his hips, and the younger watched him for a while as they listened to the sound of the air conditioning humming within the walls.

"I don't feel like having breakfast," the hunter finally spoke, brushing his hair back behind his ears.

"You should eat."

"I still feel a little off from last night. It's nothing. I can do without."

Gadreel reached his hand to press over the younger's face, and unexpectedly Sam leaned into that touch and closed his eyes. His nostrils flared as he breathed, as if the act had stirred some strong emotions within him that he wasn't allowing to show.

"I wish I could not argue with you," the older spoke quietly, "yet I know your needs, even though I would rather believe your word, and I have to repeat what I said: you should eat."

Slowly, the younger nodded.  
"I know."  
His hand grabbed Gadreel's and brought it down again, and there was a certain shade of pain in the expression of his eyes when he looked back at the angel.  
"I'm just scared I can't hold it in."

"Give it a try."

Sam watched him and his mouth turned to a crooked, joyless smile, although perhaps a spark of amusement did lie beneath the dull surface somewhere.  
"You're not going to let it slip, are you? Okay. I'll give it a try. Happy?"

The older lowered his gaze and smiled before nodding.  
"Thank you," he uttered.  
Sam pressed their foreheads together and for a while they both just sat there, heads bowed and breathing into the space between them. Then the younger climbed back off from the male's body and reached a hand to pull him out of the bed.

"Breakfast, then," he stated, and his voice had a decisive tone to it.

 

* * *

 

Sam brought two toasts with egg and a small bottle of water to Thaddeus. The angel was still asleep, and Sam didn't need to ask why; his skin remained pale although some colour had returned to his face, and he seemed so weak that even if he had noticed an intrusion, a human with a tray of breakfast was hardly threatening enough to draw a response from him. It was better that way: Sam had heard enough the day before, and as far as he was concerned, he'd rather never have another exchange with their guest.  
He called Castiel from the corridor, but the call went directly to voice message implying that the male was still in Heaven, unreachable by the usual means. Sam left him a message nevertheless, explaining briefly the situation with the injured angel even though he assumed Gadreel had already given him the basics of it, and before the time ran out managed to request that some other arrangement could be thought of. He wasn't sure if Castiel would even receive the message before Thaddeus was already good to go, but since no one wanted him there, seemingly least of all himself, it was at least better to try than to struggle through with the plan that clearly didn't seem to be working out too well for anyone.

Afterwards, already shifting back towards the library hall, Sam called Dean to announce Gadreel had been found - as if he'd ever been lost to begin with - and in turn was subjected to another badly concealed show of concern from the older's end. He didn't mind it, not yet, but he feared it wouldn't get better over time: Dean had a habit of covering the worst of it at first, and then sinking all the way down to paranoia when anything was wrong with the younger. Perhaps he had good reasons this time, but Sam just wanted them to be brothers: he didn't need a guard at his back.   
Ironically, that was exactly what he had in Gadreel. They took a short walk outdoors, and although Christmas was almost there, the scenery was mostly wet by then: puddles littered the roads and the fields were back to a damp shade of gold and muddy browns. Even though it wasn't early anymore, a pack of deer could be seen at the roadside further away: Gadreel watched curiously as they bounced away at the sight of them, and Sam mainly watched him just to see the wonder on his features.

"You've never really taken the time to appreciate what you were throw into, have you?" he asked, hands pushed down his pockets and a friendly smirk on his face.

"I've been too afraid of losing it to truly see," Gadreel replied in turn, "Now I feel as if for the first time I am granted the privilege to simply view it as it is, this world of yours, and what I see... is different from what I thought I was seeing all along."

"You like it?"

"I do."

Sam nodded.  
"It's yours now, too," he reminded the other.  
Gadreel looked back at him, surprised; the thought seemed to sink in slowly, and when he turned his eyes back to the scenery, he appeared to be looking at it differently.

They walked in silence around a crossroads, choosing a path that would take them back to the bunker before long. There was no one in sight - it didn't surprise Sam, the area to which they'd headed for wasn't the more travelled one, but he still felt a sting of anxiety as he brought his hand into Gadreel's and pushed his fingers between the older's. Gadreel held his hand in turn and seemed to only enjoy the sensation. Social expectations hardly weighted upon him, but Sam couldn't feel as confident about it as he would have if he'd walked together with a woman, and he wondered if that made a difference to him - if it mattered. The closer they got back to home the less it seemed to matter to him, and after the fifth car had passed without so much as the driver casting a second glance towards them, he finally felt like he was ready to forget the fear that he'd felt.  
The bunker's door creaked as they entered, and it slammed shut with the usual ringing sound.

"I'll check on Thaddeus," Sam sighed, their hands parting.

"Is there anything I can do?" Gadreel asked him, stopping him in his tracks.  
He turned back with a smile and shook his head.

"Get used to it. Quiet days happen. Even in the midst of an event, they just... sometimes there's nothing. Today, there's nothing."

Gadreel nodded.  
"I will wait for you, then."

"You don't have to."

The older smiled.  
"But I want to," he countered in a gentle but almost teasing tone of voice; Sam couldn't help chuckling to it.

"Good. Then you do that."

 

* * *

 

There was something new between them, and Gadreel sensed it well. He'd noticed it from the beginning of the day, a hint of something that hadn't been there before, a clarity in the way Sam treated him as opposed to the manner in which they'd come together before. Despite the still lingering fear that his presence was hurting the younger, Gadreel found it surprisingly easy to give in to the way Sam interacted with him now, and he felt comfortable with the touches and closeness that the man initiated and seemed to expect him to initiate just the same. He didn't know if it was simply the fact that they were alone now, or at least in all the ways that mattered, but Sam no longer hesitated to come to him no matter what it was they were doing. The younger mostly stayed on his own, reading a book or scrolling on his laptop, but every now and then he shifted, sometimes just to share something with the angel and at other times for no other reason than to reach a hand across the table and take the sentry's hand in his own as they both continued reading. After a much less thought through dinner than what Gadreel was by now used to, Sam seemed to have gotten enough of existing individually in a shared space however. He shut the laptop's screen and crossed around the table, grabbed a hold of Gadreel's shirt and tugged him up, motioning him to follow once the fabric had slipped from his grip. He led the angel to the study with not so much as a word to explain, but the smile on him was warm and relaxed, and seeing it made Gadreel feel at ease.

"Sit."

He did so; the couch welcomed him differently from the way it had done when he'd sat on it almost frozen to death a week ago. The whole atmosphere was different, and somehow he felt that he, too, had changed since: he didn't hesitate the eye contact with Sam as the younger settled to stand before him, just watching, and no longer did he instinctively try to dodge the contact when Sam brought his hands to his shoulders and climbed on his lap.  
They'd kissed here before, in this exact same pose: the man's hips landed upon Gadreel's as his knees pressed into the couch on both sides of the angel, but this time he wasn't as hungry for contact as he'd been then. The kiss lasted long but there were pauses in it during which neither moved away to break it completely: their lips rested in contact, mouths open, noses full of hot air that crossed from one to the other. A string of saliva broke between them and landed as a distinctive wetness over Gadreel's lip and chin, but he was holding his arms around Sam again and didn't bother wiping it away. He shivered, and noticed that Sam was shivering in turn, and there were words stuck within the younger again that he didn't seem to know how to communicate.

"You still remember that you don't owe me anything, right?" he finally spoke, "That anything I do, anything I want, is - optional."

Gadreel nodded slowly.  
"I remember."

"When I say I want something, it doesn't mean I _need_ it, and even if I need something, it wouldn't mean you have to provide."

The angel nodded again and his nod was even more hesitant than the one that had come before it. Sam resumed the kiss afterwards as if that had been an independent subject and not a prelude to what he still was holding inside him, but this time his lips soon moved from the sentry's mouth to his neck and his body pressed the older back into the couch, hands seeking control by gripping the male's shoulders as he held him down. Gadreel tilted his head to let him explore his skin the way he wanted to; he closed his eyes to the affection and felt shivers of comfort and something else run through his body at the younger's movements. It took him a moment to realise he could sense the other's arousal, but it had slipped into the act so naturally that even now that he became aware of it, it didn't affect the way he perceived how they were there together. He wondered if it should have, as it was becoming clearer by the moment what the younger had left unspoken.  
When Sam drew back to watch him, there was redness over his cheeks and a nervous glow in his eyes.

"Could you do that to me?" he asked, voice trembling slightly.

Gadreel pulled him back in: his lips touched the skin over Sam's neck with some timidness, but the way the man seemed to melt into his grip at the contact encouraged him to try his best at imitating the way Sam had kissed him.

"Use your teeth. Nip, bite, I don't care," Sam muttered, hips bucking towards the older's body, "I love the way it feels. Always did."

The angel hesitated again - it was the only way he knew how to respond to a request such as that. Then, with his eyes closed, he nipped; a small, almost surprised sound escaped Sam and he trembled throughout so that Gadreel could feel it against his palms and thighs.

"Harder."

The contact broke, only to be renewed by their mouths as Sam blocked out the question that he'd predicted would come.

"Please," he breathed over the sentry's lips, and the way he looked into the older's eyes was determined and not in the slightest lost or scared or weak; he was in full control here, he knew it, and for some reason, this was what he wanted to gain by it.

It wasn't in Gadreel's nature, but none of this was. He bit into the man's flesh at first still ever so gently as to not leave a mark, but when Sam's fingers crossed into his hair and pushed him down towards his skin, breathing heavy and whole body tense with expectation, he bruised.  
A hoarse laughter left Sam's lips and he pulled back, released the angel from his grip and settled to sit in a more relaxed manner over the older's legs.

"I've missed feeling that."

"Why do you like it?" the older asked, fingers lost as he found them reaching to touch the reddish mark he'd left behind.

"I'm an animal."  
There was no irony or tease in Sam's voice; it was plain, matter-of-factly, and a shrug topped it so naturally that it would have been lacking without it.  
"What I want isn't always logical. It's not that I want to be controlled," he continued then, "but I want to feel _alive_. I want nails and teeth and bruises to feel the day after - the _week_ after. I want to remember how it feels like to be one with someone. I want to look in the mirror and know that I come from somewhere. And I want to make love with you, today, here, on the stairs, in my bed, I don't care - if you're not ready, or if you don't want that at all, that's fine. I want to know where your limits go."

He topped the flood of words by hiding in plain sight; their heads collided with a little too much force, resulting in a small breathless chuckle escaping the younger as he settled, appearing nervous, to wait whatever the angel's response would be. Gadreel felt him against him and he felt good there, but the words left him speechless, nervous and conflicted. He turned to find the man's neck again and he kissed it with force that he hoped felt good to the younger, but even as he did so, he wondered what it was like to feel that need which drove Sam on - he had none of it for himself, none of that desire or longing for more than what they had here.

He was free to want, but wanting did not come so easy to him. The only want in him was that of servitude; he wanted to give Sam what the younger wanted, but the younger wanted for him to want something for himself and that seemed a paradox he didn't know how to proceed with. His hands remained cold as he felt with them the hunter's firm body underneath his loose, thin shirt, and he closed his eyes to imagine the feel of him bare against his own skin. He couldn't; he barely knew what he felt like on his own.

"Too much to ask for?" Sam asked him, fingers back in his hair with none of the demands that had lingered in the touch before.

"I do not know what is expected of me. What to do - or how to feel."

"I can guide you through it. It's not that hard. But you need to want it. I don't want to hurt you, and I don't want to push you. If it's too early, that's okay."

Their eyes met, although the distance was much too short to see properly: Gadreel noted the kind smile on the younger and he realised Sam meant what he said. There was no shame in backing out - Sam wouldn't mind it, he'd come out of it like he'd come out of any other rejection. This didn't mean that much to him; it was a desire, certainly, that held certain value to him, but he was ready to wait, perhaps to bypass it in all. The weight of that decision lay entirely upon Gadreel and he wasn't sure what to make of it.

"Are you afraid?" Sam asked him, the back of his palm pressing over the older's jaw and stroking past his ear before his fingers spread back into his hair again.

Gadreel shook his head the best he could in the limited space offered to him.  
"No. Yet I worry I may not be able to give you what you wish for."

"I don't wish anything in particular. You're new to this. I don't expect you to know your way around. I don't expect anything. I just feel like it's something I want to do with you."

"You said you would guide me."

"Absolutely. I know what I like."

Gadreel nodded.  
"The same cannot be said for me," he noted.

"I'd love to help you figure it out, if that's what you want. And as for me - you don't have to do anything you don't want to. You know that I like biting, but you don't have to do it if you don't want to. You don't have to do anything you don't want to do and if you don't want this, we can check out Netflix right now and I'll show you how that works instead."

His body felt tempting: its shivers, shifts and pressure promised a whole different world of affection that Sam was offering to the older freely. It didn't scare him - none of this did - but the nervousness that lingered inside him was still as real as it had been two minutes earlier, and while the younger's words easened it, none of them made it disappear completely. But did he want it gone? Gadreel wasn't sure. It seemed exciting in a way he'd never experienced before, to not have a clear picture of where he was headed, what was expected of him, or what it would feel like to go through with it. His heart raced and he found himself smiling.

"Tell me what you want me to do," he finally said, voice determined but submissive, open.

He felt Sam's smile against his own when the younger kissed him again.

 

* * *

 

The hunter guided the other's touches on him with patience that threatened to turn into a volatile mixture in combination with the overwhelming anticipation inside him. He shook so violently that he knew Gadreel was questioning what it was for, but it had very little to do with fear, although he did have a shade of that mixing in with the rest just the same - fear of fear, in its purest, as he worried of his own reaction to finally letting the other back so close to him. They never seemed to think of moving from the study and in his mind Sam apologized to Dean and Castiel both for it, yet he didn't feel enough shame to initiate a move, and so they stayed. His clothes dropped from him piece by piece, leaving him in the nude while the angel still remained clothed, and he pressed against the older's body both for warmth and for shelter as Gadreel held him still, palms sliding gently along his form, exploring it in a careful manner. It didn't seem the shift the power balance between them at all: Sam still felt in control, and he worried he may have felt too much so - even as Gadreel kissed him of his own initiative, he still couldn't shake the concern that this was too much too fast for the angel. He didn't appear so, however; the awkwardness shed from the way he touched Sam's body soon enough, and he seemed to enjoy the opportunity to feel him in this way. Now it was Sam holding back - he shed the hoodie from the male's body but beyond there he found his heart skipping beats whenever he so much as intended, and with cold fingertips he refrained from taking the necessary steps to even out their wardrobe. Besides, there was something throughoutly exciting about being exposed like that while the other still was not: he felt oddly loved the way the angel treated him despite this seeming imbalance between them, as if he was fragile, but not in a weak way but rather in a very precious way, and the experience gave him the comfort that he needed to trust that his judgement had been at least somewhat sound when he'd decided to take them here.

Strangely, the experience - despite the very clear sexual undertone of it - remained mostly not so; it was as if Gadreel gave and returned all the affection given to him in some other form than erotic, even when Sam guided him to touch him in a way that couldn't possibly have been platonic or even nothing more than romantic. The way he touched him was revering, fond and loving but in the same way that his presence altogether felt: there was nothing crude or needy in it, and even as he learned the ways to drag his fingers about Sam's body that could make the younger moan out loud, he did it like Sam was a fine work of art that he was chosen to care for, not needy flesh and rushing blood and despairing heat.  
Their kisses, on the other hand, did turn more needy and violent. Sam's lips throbbed from them and he could feel the roughness on the underside of his lips where his teeth had dragged marks into the fine skin, and he felt the swelling as hotness that surrounded the angel's mouth just the same as he could feel the same on his own features. With trembling hands he undid the male's shirt and brought them skin-to-skin, mouth sucking on the angel's ear and then dropping to bite him from the back of his neck, the trimmed hair there scrunching under his teeth, and the sentry soon learned to do the same for him. His pose was open and welcoming to the hunter's movements, the rocking of his hips against Gadreel's, and the longer the foreplay or whatever it was went on, the more comfortable and confident he seemed about it, and Sam's nervousness melted away to that growing sense of control the older was gaining. It was easy to bring him in but keeping him involved was harder; occasionally it seemed like the angel could easily get lost in just watching and experiencing instead of joining in, as if he wasn't present at all but not in a way that would have communicated that he was distancing himself from the act - rather it seemed like that was the natural way for him to enjoy himself, not truly partaking but giving to witness the effects instead.

The hunter's hands were no longer shaking when he undid the belt from the male's jeans and brought all layers down on the same go. He had to close his eyes to the rocking of his horizon and just to keep his heart where it was supposed to be before he could lower his body back over the older's, and Gadreel guided him down with such care that there seemed to be absolutely no arousal in him whatsoever although his body had certainly responded appropriately to the tension between them. There was a moment during which neither of them did or said anything, but they watched one another with small smiles that seemed calculative and inquiring rather than anything else; the moment ended to yet another kiss, and Sam rested his body over the older's form and realised that he seemed to fit there perfectly. He'd never had the chance to be the one on someone's lap; he'd tried, but due to the sheer size of him, he'd never dared to relax into it. Now he had the room to do so, and being held felt surprisingly good: he could still retain his feeling of strength in the hold, but at the same time he felt completely accepted, loved and cared for, none of which he could object to.

"Do you want to go further?" he asked breathlessly.

Gadreel nodded without hesitation.  
"As far as you are willing to let me," he spoke, voice full of warmth but some breathlessness obvious in him just as in Sam.

"Can I touch you?" Sam heard himself ask, eyes closed again and skin conflicted between the radiating warmth of the male underneath him as well as the cool air of the room they had chosen to undress in.

Gadreel nodded again, and Sam felt him take his hands in his own. He leaned back and Sam opened his eyes, bracing himself to take the step he'd never expected to find himself taking, but Gadreel guided his hands over to his chest instead and left them there for Sam to use as he best saw fit. He moved them down the older's body, along his soft but still muscled abdomen to his sides and up again; he traced the shape of his arms, drew lines between the freckles like a map of the night sky scattered over his skin, and returned to his hips and to the middle of his waist to feel in his fingertips the trail of hair down his body. He raised his eyes to the older's again and this time, he didn't smile although the older did; he drew breath and leaned closer again, their mouths joining as he crossed the distance and brushed his hand over the male's erect length.  
The angel shivered.

"You've never felt this before," Sam uttered, suddenly aware of the likelihood.

"I... have."

"You have?"  
The answer surprised him, but the silence of the older's in response drowned the initial response. He grimaced - of course Gadreel had. It wasn't as if he'd remained pure and chaste through the months they'd shared a body. The thought sent a shiver of distinctive discomfort through Sam's body and he had to take a moment to just breathe.

"I'm sorry. I did - I detached as far as I could, I did not truly experience it, yet -"

" _Stop_ ," Sam heard himself utter through the dizziness and the tingling of his skin, "being sorry for everything."  
The next thing he knew, he was kissing the male again to keep him from saying a word more, and his hand had firmly wrapped around the shaft that felt warm and hard in his grip, and throughoutly unfamiliar: he didn't know how to position his hand over it, he'd never done anything of the kind before from this angle, but it didn't seem to matter to the older.  
He could continue only for a while before the angel undid his fingers from around his shape; his touch was uncertain and apologetic. Their eyes met again and the smile on him was definitely regretful, as if he was afraid to say what he needed to.

"I'm fine," he managed to say, and it took Sam a while to connect the words to any subject.

"You don't want that?" the younger asked.

The angel dropped his gaze to the couch and Sam tracked the way his eyes moved anywhere but towards him. Then, finally, the male nodded.  
"It feels overwhelming."

"That's okay."

Gadreel turned to look back at him, but it seemed to demand some effort from him to do so. Sam responded to his gaze, but his stomach was still bottomless and his skin was still tingling and he could feel the unwelcome flood of adrenaline mix with his arousal, cancelling it like an opposite signal; with a sigh he retired from the older's lap, settled beside him on the couch instead and pulled his legs up to cover his body with. He reached for the other's hand and cast a smile in his direction, his expression as apologetic as Gadreel's had been, perhaps more so.  
"I need a moment," he said and leaned his head back.  
"Could you..."

The words stayed between them, hanging in the air as Gadreel expected him to continue and he tried to figure out what it was that he truly needed.  
"... come closer?"

He felt the older shift, and soon enough their bodies were together again. Sam brought his arm back around the male's waist and he relaxed against him instead, a small smile on his lips as he rested, concentrating on breathing and calming down before the first signs of another attack could overwhelm him. It was the last thing he needed, but he'd been so far from his memories of possession and felt so safe that the sudden reminder of it had caught him unprepared and with his defenses lowered to a point where he'd had no chance of taking it without falling right into it at the same time. When he opened his eyes, he found Gadreel still watching him.

"You're beautiful," Sam pointed out with a tired smile on him, "I'm sorry, I just need a moment."

"You do not need to apologise," the angel replied, his voice as calm as ever.

Sam nodded.  
"So..." he muttered, eyes closing again - the tingling and coldness was already settling, but he needed something to distract himself from it to prevent it from rising again like a tide crashing to flood him over.  
"How's this for closeness?"

He felt the male relaxing next to him: he hadn't even realised the sentry's body was tense, but now that that tension lifted, it was impossible to not notice it had been there before.

"I enjoy it," Gadreel admitted, "even though it feels foreign for me."

"Yeah. I bet."

The hunter took a hold of the older's hand and brought it on his stomach even as he turned his back more towards Gadreel to get into something of a mildly uncomfortable fetal position. He uncurled slightly to give the older some space to move his hand, bringing his foot over Gadreel's leg behind him as the couch was almost completely out of space, and he hardly wanted to hang his both legs down from it - the cool air was too cold if he did so, and he felt much too naked at the same time unless he retained some cover over his body. He adjusted his arm to the arm rest and gazed over it at the shelves of books and files ahead as he let go of the male; Gadreel's hand stayed still for a moment before he began stroking the skin on Sam's stomach with small, gentle movements.

"If you want to touch me the way I touched you," Sam spoke, eyes closing once again, "I won't object, you know."

He hadn't expected it to feel as good as it did. When the older's fingers wrapped around his sex, he almost jumped; his protective curl opened some more and he parted his legs to invite the male further, and as Gadreel got used to moving his hand over the younger's length, Sam found his hips already rocking to the touch, even if it was only in small movements and hardly obvious.  
He smiled as the fear inside him tuned away, retreating to become an unfortunate but hardly bothersome undertone to the rest of his feelings. It had taken away the heat but not the will and the want, and he told himself that it was alright to show how he felt, his hips relaxing to the rhythm with which they now greeted the sentry's touch on him.

"Just... remember that you don't - you don't have to, either."

"You don't have to worry about that. I want to," the angel told him warmly, and Sam found himself smiling wider.

 

* * *

 

They moved down onto the floor, dragging the quilt down from the couch to cover them from the cool room temperature. The carpet wasn't the most comfortable nor was it the softest surface to lie upon but it served well enough for now, and neither of them seemed to want to move anywhere just yet. Gadreel watched Sam as the younger watched the ceiling, hand stuck in his long hair and a certain glow about his eyes that he occasionally directed towards the angel as well; each time he did so he smiled, even if it was nothing but a twitch of his mouth.  
The angel felt content, too, if not quite up to the level that Sam seemed to have reached - out of all the places in the world, here on the study's floor seemed to be exactly where he wanted to be. Underneath the quilt they were holding hands still, Sam's palm wet with sweat like the rest of him still was, and Gadreel slightly less so.

"I'm... hungry. For the first time in - I really want to get something to eat," the younger told the ceiling.

Gadreel turned to examine it for a moment before nodding; now was Sam's turn to watch him while he watched the ceiling instead.

"I want to ask you a question," Sam continued after a while, "and I want you to answer me honestly."

"Alright."

"Did you enjoy it?"

Their gazes met; there was worry behind the open look in Sam's eyes, and Gadreel wanted to smile, but he seemed to have forgotten how it happened. After an invisible struggle, he finally remembered.  
"I did," he admitted.  
"Even though I feel I may not have been the partner you wished for."

Sam's hold of his hand tightened.  
"Don't worry about that. I had fun. Thank you."  
The hunter smirked and let out a small chuckle.  
"I'm actually still having fun. Next time, that is if you want there to be a next time, let's just take it to the bedroom."

Gadreel nodded.  
"The space was quite crowded," he agreed.

"Yeah."  
Sam turned around on his side and Gadreel felt his knee pressing against his thigh; they watched one another for a moment without speaking.  
"Would you?"

"Would I what?"

"Have a next time with me."

The angel closed his eyes as a distinctive burn returned upon his cheeks. He nodded.  
"Without hesitation," he replied, turning an honest gaze into Sam's eyes.

Relief was visible upon the younger's features.  
"Then I wasn't as crappy as I feared, either. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable."

"You did not. I felt respected, and you listened to me even though I do not quite know how to speak your language."

"You're getting easier to read - not that I ever had much difficulty to begin with."

Gadreel nodded again.  
"I hope you felt respected as well."

"I did. Thanks."

Sam's palm slid over to the male's shoulder and he aimed an examining look into Gadreel's eyes; the angel let him watch, but the incoming question hung heavy between them, making the older feel nervous for little reason. Finally the younger seemed to have it on his tongue and as he leaned his head down, he was smiling a timid smile as if already apologizing for the question.  
"Are you sure you're fine with just this?" he asked, "I don't want to pressure you or anything, it's just... I feel kind of selfish."

The older turned a look back at the ceiling.  
"I am fine. Do not worry about it."

"Too much for one day?"

A huff escaped Gadreel.  
"Perhaps it is that."


	21. Fresh Air

* * *

 

A part of Sam felt guilty, and he couldn't deny it. It was a strange nagging feeling he couldn't remember feeling before in the context it now haunted him, but he pushed it aside with determination; he'd done nothing wrong, not as far as he knew, so there was no reason to dwell upon it. There was calm between them as they finally pushed aside the blanket, cold chasing away the heaviness in Sam's body, but he showered alone. He kept the room dark, sat on the tiled floor and held his head over his knees, exhausted but not in a bad way - once the odd negative tint of it was sufficiently pushed to the back, he felt mostly content, sated. Although a part of him would have liked to share this ritual with Gadreel, another was happy that the other could simply angel himself back to cleanliness and full clothing, and that part of him needed the privacy and the quiet of the shower's non-stop sound, the white noise that it provided, before he could finally step out and dry himself off. The yellow light in the room was warm and comfortable for his eyes even after the fifteen minutes of fumbling around in darkness, and he stayed in it for a few minutes more than necessary; he watched himself in the mirror as he kept rubbing his shoulders, his neck and his hair drier and drier as if the towel could still achieve more than it already had. He left off his underwear, pulled on the jeans and the old shirt that he noticed now had a small hole in the lower part of it which settled over the bottom of his ribcage, and he pushed a finger through it, skin turning to goosebumps at contact.

Perhaps he'd expected to feel different. Enlightened, as if he'd gone into the act hoping to come out with answers: maybe he'd thought he'd realised he wasn't attracted, despite all evidence pointing to the contrary, and could move on after he'd proven it to himself and Gadreel. But he'd proven nothing if not the contrary, and as he exited the bathroom, he felt a draw inside him that pulled him back to the angel's presence, and none of it felt bad at all. It was a quiet sort of desire to simply be close, a peace that wasn't passive but constantly seeking its source, and he enjoyed that. To his surprise he came to the library hearing noises from the kitchen, and he turned there, following a scent more than he was following the familiar corridor. He knocked on the door's frame before stepping in and Gadreel glanced back at him with a small, content smile on him.

"I thought I could cook for you while you showered."

"What's for dinner?"

"I would not refer to it as such," the angel admitted with a huff, stepping aside from the frying pan.

"Toast and eggs," Sam noted with a crooked smile and a ringing in his ears, "Thanks. That's - I actually think that's pretty much what I wanted, too."  
Salt, protein, carbohydrates. Something to take away the weakness in his limbs, but none of what resided inside his skull. The swinging of his horizon might stabilize from it, however; he was almost certain it was the lack of nutrition more than anything. He gazed back at Gadreel and with a shiver and a sigh walked over to him, arms wrapping around the male's body and bringing him close: his scent filled the younger's nostrils and he found surprising comfort in it, like it was the most familiar thing to him by now. His right arm slipped off of the angel's body soon enough but the other stayed around his back, and he watched the slowly cooking bread with misty eyes as Gadreel watched him with clarity and keenness that Sam could almost feel upon his skin.

"I think this is what I want," the hunter said absently after a moment's time, reaching to flip over the bread on the pan, "I think - I think we're good this way, if it's what you want, too."

Gadreel nodded.  
"I'm glad you feel that way."

"And you?"

"I wish to keep this as well."

Sam's smile widened for a moment and he felt his heart flutter. He'd never expected this to be the way he'd end up, but at the end of the day, if it made them both happy... then it couldn't be too far off the map.  
"I think this is the point where I need to tell Dean, then. He's going to be... excited."

"I sense sarcasm in your tone."

"You should. He's going to punch me. And then he's going to find you and throw you out. That's - a good case scenario."

"We will see. Do you wish to talk to him on your own?"

Sam nodded.  
"Yeah. I don't think you're going to help him understand. He's still jumpy about you, I - think it's best I handle it alone."  
He turned a look into Gadreel's eyes and found himself still smiling although there was a look of mild concern over the angel's features.  
"It's okay, really. He's gonna throw a fit but it's best to just get it over with."

For some reason, he couldn't feel worried at all; he faced the task ahead of him the same way as any inevitability. It would go the way it would and then it'd be over, but that was that. Dean didn't control him, and Dean's reactions were just that - his opinions couldn't change what Sam decided for himself. This would likely test it and the trust between them and after Sam's confession, Dean likely wouldn't take it well, but keeping it from him wasn't an option. He'd find out anyway now that Sam felt he was settling into it for real. It was better to let him in rather than make him know he'd not been trusted with the information when he'd stumble upon the truth later.

"I'm not worried, not really. He'll just have to deal with it."

Gadreel nodded.  
"I was hoping not to cause conflict this time," he said, and Sam was surprised to see the crooked smile on him, "I suppose that is inevitable."

"For a guy who just wants to be left in peace, you really do draw conflict to you. But you know, once this is over... at least you'll have a place here. I mean, I can't say that we're gonna keep this up the way it is now: that I can stick to being a librarian as my brother puts it, or that you can stay with me and have a home and not feel afraid that you won't get to return here. I can't promise you that, because the way things are now... with the angels returning to life, especially with Raphael, it's more than likely that I'll have to get back on the road and things will go ugly again. I'm getting used to the thought because - I can't see this going on for much longer. Things are about to get bad as they always do and we'll just have to adapt, as always. But what I can tell you is that you really are in the team now, and you're with me; for what it's worth, that won't change. You're with us."

Sam parted from the angel, but the male's warmth stuck to him: he reached for the plates and dragged one out, flipped the toasts onto it and turned the stove off. As he grabbed the pan and dropped it into the sink, he turned to look at Gadreel and smiled sadly.  
"You're thinking that this is your war, not mine."

Slowly, the older nodded.  
"I am afraid it will be," he admitted, "but it would bring me peace to know that you are safe and that you can still continue living the life that you've wanted for yourself."

Sam nodded in turn, feeling a burn inside his stomach and a grip wrenching at his heart.  
"It's a nice thought," he said, fingers bent around a hot toast but not bringing it up to his mouth.  
"But it always comes back to us. I won't have a happy ending. I'm just glad I had this when I had it, for the time that I had it. When it comes, I'm ready for it."

Gadreel watched him for a while without saying anything, but Sam could see him try to find words with which to comfort the younger or deny the dark thoughts he'd voiced - Sam didn't need comfort, this had been his life for too long for him to require any. Still some part of him wished that Gadreel would find out some unspoken hope, or perhaps announce that he wasn't about to march off to any wars, angelic or otherwise. Eventually the older broke into a submissive smile and shook his head.  
"I will stand with you," he promised, "I know better than to try and hold you back."

Sam gave him a smile back, but it felt weary on him even though the intent behind it was honest.  
"I should check on the angel," he finally said, killing the smiles on them both, "After that, I think I should get back to reading."

 

* * *

 

Sam relaxed into the older's touch faster than Gadreel had expected. He leaned back and let out a quiet sigh, his shoulders suddenly softening under the angel's fingertips; Gadreel had learned this trick by allowing his consciousness to trickle into awareness at times when the brothers shared massages, and although he'd never expected it to serve him, now it did so regardless. He'd been curious to find out what the sensation stemmed from and he hoped that he was able to replicate at least a fraction of the careful strength that Dean had put into his touches, while only having experience of how to do it from Sam's own hands - he had no idea how Sam's way felt to Dean, but by the grunts of the older brother, he would have expected that the younger was about as good at this work as the man himself was. And it seemed to work.

"Did you..." Sam started, but his words trailed off again and he tuned back to the book, although Gadreel wasn't quite sure if he was truly reading or simply staring down.  
Finally the hunter continued, slight tension returning to his muscles.  
"Did you learn this from me?"

"I did."

Sam nodded.  
"It feels great."

A smile crossed Gadreel's lips even though Sam couldn't see it. Silence fell back into the library and now the angel was almost certain Sam was really reading again, as he soon turned page and then again in a moment's time.  
"Are you finding anything?"

"Not really, no. I didn't expect to. I hope Dean has better luck."

"I do so as well."

The younger continued turning the pages for a moment longer before finally sighing and slamming the covers closed.  
"You know, we could use this time better. I want to watch a movie, and I could finally teach you how to navigate the app on my tablet. I feel like that could be infinitely more interesting and fruitful than actually researching from books that have nothing to do with the knowledge I need."  
He turned a warm smile towards Gadreel.  
"I just don't want you to stop doing that."

"I can continue later," Gadreel assured him with his smile now crooked.

There was relief in the younger's gaze even as Gadreel dropped his hands back to his sides and stepped away so that Sam could stand up. The younger motioned him to follow and they crossed the bunker back into his room, and although there shouldn't have been any reason for him to do so, he locked the door behind them.  
"You know," Sam uttered as he dropped the key back on the bedside table, "I feel really uncomfortable having that angel here. So if you thought you're the only one, you're not."

Gadreel sighed.  
"He is a handful, I assume."

"He was easier today," Sam noted, hopping on the bed and reaching for the tablet - his voice was weary again, drained.  
"It's just that when I look at him I can't help but think of what he's done to you and others. I used to think... it's been a long while since, but I used to think that angels were pure and good. Torturers? Seriously?"

The older nodded as he sat beside Sam. Almost as if by instinct his hand sought out Sam's and the hunter looked at him surprisedly, having expected it as little as Gadreel had, but the expression warmed and turned fond as he laced their fingers together, the corners of his mouth twitching to show that it was alright.

"There was always a prison in Heaven," Gadreel told him, "much before there were prisoners. Thaddeus was chosen as one of the guards, but not all of them torture, and not all of them enjoyed their work half as much as he did. There is good in Heaven and in angels - you've known Castiel for a long time. He is honourable and fair. Many angels are like him, even though time may have soured the ones I used to know. I am sure in others that spirit has survived."

Sam let out a soft huff; Gadreel wasn't sure if it was disagreeing, but he left it uncontested.  
"Order must be kept," he clarified instead, "a threat of punishment kept angels obedient to one another. God did not need such measures, but God spoke to very few angels, and the rest always got their orders from those above them."

"What was it like before God left?"

"Heaven?"

"Mm."  
The tablet flared to life but Sam didn't seem too eager to find the icon he was looking for from the list spread out in front of him. Instead his fingertip stayed upon the screen and he nibbled at his lower lip. When he pushed back his hair, Gadreel's eyes picked up the darkening red of the mark he'd left on his skin, and both shame and something much deeper flared within him at the sight.

"Peaceful," Gadreel said, "But it was also quiet, unfinished; it seemed barren, as if there should have been something that we could not build in it. There was no death in Eden, and therefore no human souls resided in Heaven - there were no realms revealed by the shards of creation hidden within your kind, as they were all immortal. It grew around me while I was imprisoned and on a good day, I could feel it grow. It gave me some solace. It made me question whether I'd failed God's will as I was accused of having."

"I guess it's pretty much a mystery to you guys as well."

Gadreel nodded.  
"I am afraid at least I have not the answers to Heaven's secrets. Perhaps you will find out more one day."

Sam looked up at him with a look like he was expecting Gadreel to be joking, but the older simply smiled back at him. Sam would reside in Heaven, create one of his own, and Gadreel would only ever stand witness to the miracle instead of partaking in it. He'd felt the creation of heavens all around him but he knew of no angel who understood it better than he did, and he didn't understand much of it at all.  
Finally the younger dropped his gaze back to the tablet and opened one of the applications.  
"Okay, I'm gonna show you how this works so you can browse it on your own time if you want. It's not only movies - I don't know how much you care about that - but there are a lot of pretty interesting documentaries too, which might be more your thing since you've missed on quite a lot of things while being trapped upstairs."

 

* * *

 

Gadreel didn't know how it ended up that way, but after the movie had ended, they made love again. The first time had been brief, even if their mutual clumsiness and concern had stretched it to last longer, but this time took over an hour. He was still as sensitive and insecure about contact with his own body as he'd been before, but touching Sam was easier now. If he'd learned something on the first go, it was that Sam truly wanted to be touched - that he enjoyed it, _really_ enjoyed it, even if Gadreel still felt that he wasn't all too well tuned to the younger's needs. He knew, approximately, how to touch, where to touch and when to touch, and with the help of his senses he could understand much that was invisible and inaudible to the hunter himself, but his hands weren't used to the ways he now touched with them and he hardly knew how to partake in the rest of it, as the context for those touches was as obscure to him as most other nuances of human interaction. It didn't seem to bother Sam too much. His patience appeared to have no limits as he guided Gadreel's hands where he needed them, words keeping him on track even when his hands weren't there to help. The man seemed to be a much quicker learner than Gadreel was, as he kept returning to caress the angel in a way that felt as if he was touching the core of him and not the body alone - those touches and the affection that they spoke of were everything that Gadreel needed in a way he would have never expected prior to knowing them upon his skin, and he gave himself to them sometimes so fully that he forgot to stay aware of his surroundings almost completely. In those moments he realised he was breathing in unison with the younger, and they seemed to become entwined further than the body alone; it was nothing like possession, but rather like joining of their spirits instead, an experience where they shared something invisible and fragile that yet seemed to define them in that moment.

Gadreel had never expected to be there. Being there twice seemed even more unbelievable, yet he felt no reservation towards the act. He wanted to give Sam what the younger needed, and Sam was human through and through - his need for physical closeness may have been foreign to the older, but it wasn't unknown or unthought of. He gave it the best he could and hoped intent made up for the rest, and when Sam finally rested beside him with his heartbeat steadying back to a peaceful pace, he felt like he hadn't been quite as unrefined as he'd been those few hours earlier. And even if he'd been, it clearly didn't matter to Sam; the younger's smile seemed to never dim, not even when he closed his eyes and curled up closer to the older's body perhaps seeking contact or warmth or something else which still escaped Gadreel's understanding. He brought his arm and whatever remained of his wing around the younger's body and kept him close as Sam relaxed next to him and as the man soon and quite suddenly drifted asleep, his guard so completely disarmed that Gadreel could feel his vulnerability from him, he swore to stay that way until the hunter would stir again. For physical cover he brought the blanket over Sam and covered him with it to the shoulder before finally returning to the pose he'd taken earlier.  
Time ticked by them, turning from a few minutes to an hour and sliding past midnight without so much as Sam stirring under the male's arm. By two in the morning the angel finally reached for the tablet - after briefly recalling just how it was done, he turned the volume almost completely down and applied what he'd been taught earlier to find a program he thought he wanted to watch. The screen's light reflected from the younger's hair but nothing in the man's aura shifted to imply he was aware of the change in lighting or even that there was a steady voice speaking in the room with them. Another hour passed, and so did the program; two more went by just the same.

This was the first time Gadreel watched something because he felt like doing so; he'd began solely because Sam had implied that he should, but he'd been right. It was not only a faster, easier way to wait out the night but although Gadreel couldn't tell exactly what he was learning, he was learning all the same - it was a silent process of information, spoken, shown, implied and gained from nothing but nuances and body language of those recorded for the film, that crossed through the angel's mind and left him fuller than he'd been before. He found himself smiling as he finally put the tablet down and leaned his head back onto the pillow at six in the morning, and by seven, the usual sound of Sam's alarm went off, finally waking the man.  
He turned a void look towards Gadreel and a hint of confusion tinted the growing expression in his eyes before he finally seemed to fully recall the previous night. He chuckled softly, closed his eyes again and curled up tighter.  
"Could you turn off that thing?"

Gadreel barely lifted his hand to silence the phone.

"Thanks."

The younger breathed in content, quiet huffs next to him for a moment before stirring again.  
"I didn't mean to fall asleep like that," he admitted.  
His palm slid over Gadreel's cheek and the angel shivered, unexpectedly and as if his body wasn't completely under his control anymore. Sam kept smiling - he seemed perfectly happy to be there.  
"I think I should get up and feed the prisoner again."

"If he'd starve, I can't say I'd mourn his loss," Gadreel noted.

Sam scoffed and closed his eyes again.  
"Yeah. Same. But we both made a promise, so someone has to."

"I could bring him his meal this time."

"Really?"

Gadreel nodded, his face brushing against the pillow.  
"I also made a promise to change. He is a good test of just how much I've been able to. I cannot let his words, or anyone else's, turn me against them again. He is not dangerous and I should not hide from him as if he could still hurt me. He has no power here."

"Good."  
Sam stayed quiet for a while before elaborating.  
"I'm proud of you. I... want you to know that I am."

"As am I of you," Gadreel replied, his voice bearing a hint of sadness in the tone, "You are even stronger than I ever knew to give you credit for."

The younger smiled; a slight blush grew upon his cheekbones. Then, with a weary sound he lifted himself up.  
"I'll take a shower again. Can you handle the breakfast? I need to call Dean, too."

"Of course."  
  


* * *

 

  
Thaddeus shifted; his eyes moved across the shape of Gadreel and for a second, a clearly visible sneer crossed his expression. Then it faded: the angel let out a sigh, fell back on the bed and closed his eyes.  
"What do you want?" he asked and his voice matched the weight with which he'd landed.

Gadreel slid the tray into the room and wondered if the younger was even able to get it from there. He wanted to claim that he didn't care, but somehow, he did and he wished he'd pushed it just a bit further even if it meant spilling the coffee. To his own surprise, he landed with his back to the door's frame and dragged his knees up to his chest, breathing shallow and tense and a nervous tingle spreading into his body, but he wasn't afraid anymore, and with his fear the aggression in him seemed to have faded somewhat too. He looked at the slowly breathing shape on the bed and tried to remember what hating him felt like, but the only thing he managed was pity.

"I brought you breakfast."

"And your pleasant company, it seems. Can you just - _leave_ , Gadreel?"

"No."  
As long as it was what Thaddeus wanted, Gadreel wasn't going to do anything. He watched the other side of the door's frame and noticed some scratch marks on it, resulting perhaps from furniture being moved in and out in the past. He reached to touch the marks to distract himself from the anxiety within his chest and forced his breathing calm, repeating to himself that he was not in any danger. The moment Thaddeus stirred, he raised his head again, but he managed to do it like the sound hadn't sent his heart racing.  
The torturer slid his feet on the floor and weighted himself over them for a few times before struggling up; he swayed and his hand landed in the middle of the first-aid supplies on the table, sending them flying all over, but despite his sickly pale complexion and apparent weakness he soon stablized again and continued crossing the room, his eyes dark as they kept Gadreel in his vision at all times.  
Gadreel had an instinctive need to steer further from him as he settled on his knees next to the tray, but he stuck to where he was, repeating over and over to himself that he was safe and there was nothing to fear and that it was crucial that he showed it to Thaddeus the same. He couldn't allow the other to have this power over him - he was free of the torture chambers, free of the prisons, and he was free of Thaddeus the same.

"What year is it, prisoner?" the younger asked grumpily, "How many have passed since you stabbed me?"

"Almost five years since then," Gadreel replied, swallowed thick acid and continued strainedly, "brother."

Thaddeus nodded absently. He grabbed a toast and turned it around.  
"And who is in charge?"

"No one, but we follow our original orders to our best ability. Guard the creation; guard mankind."

The younger laughed hoarsely.  
"And our ranks? Who's keeping an eye out on them? We'll never agree on anything, not after your failure set God away from us. Are you saying there are no rebellers, no disobedience, no prisoners?"

Gadreel hesitated.  
"I am afraid there are still many prisoners," he spoke then, although he didn't know for certain.  
He'd never discussed the prison with Castiel.

"There'll be more," Thaddeus noted.  
His voice sounded ominous enough to raise up the hair on Gadreel's skin but he ignored it.  
"Looks like I'll have a job to return to."

"It will be different from the days before."  
It couldn't be the same. It _couldn't -_ not anymore, not after everything that had changed.

"Whereas _you_ ," Thaddeus continued as if not hearing what Gadreel had said, "will still be a lost cause. What are you doing, sentry? Serving breakfast?"

"My duties are of no concern to you."

"Right. Acting all high and mighty again as you follow a rising star. I remember you doing that before."

Anger rose like a storm within Gadreel but he pushed it down and forced himself to look away. The sigils and the trap that crossed through the room kept them separate - he didn't owe Thaddeus an explanation.

"You do that, have you noticed? You're so desperate to be recognised. You suck up to others because you know you're nothing without them. _Gadreel_."

"All those years," Gadreel replied with a weary voice, "and yet you know nothing of me."

"What do you know of me, brother?" Thaddeus asked him in turn, gaining the older's attention.

Gadreel looked at the burning gold that made his halo appear like it had been cast in metal around him; his wings had regained some glow to them with grace surging through the bony structure in pulses.  
"Nothing," he said then, "I know nothing of you."

"Good. Let's keep it that way," Thaddeus replied with a grimace and finally bit into the toast.  
Gadreel watched him eat, receiving glares every now and then that he answered with calm. He was truly on the other side of this fence - Thaddeus had no power over him. It was a repeating realisation that he never could quite fully believe or understand, as for so many years solid bars had kept them separate yet the younger had always crossed through like they meant nothing to him.

"You don't have to go back in there," Gadreel heard himself note, "To the prisons. They've set up new guards, you are not needed."

"Wise words from someone who is also not needed," Thaddeus replied dully, "and would serve our cause best if he was scattered in the winds. The ground could use your grace, Gadreel, grow something that wasn't entirely purposeless with the creation God wasted on you."

"God seems to disagree with your sentiment," Gadreel noted, some sharpness in his voice although he felt nothing within.

Thaddeus raised a brow at him but didn't ask further questions; perhaps he simply wasn't interested in Gadreel's story, which the older understood well considering he'd heard most of it over and over and over for what seemed to be a past eternity.  
"Can you just go?" he asked instead.

Gadreel found himself smiling. He nodded.  
"I have better things to do with my time," he stated, "I wish you a swift recovery."

"So that we can stop having these chats? Yeah, me too."

The sentry pulled himself up and reached for the door, but before he could take a hold of it, Thaddeus reached out with his foot and kicked it aside so that pulling it closed was impossible. With a small sigh, Gadreel raised his hand and dragged the door back towards him with his powers instead; he looked down at the younger guardian and found him grinning in a manner that seemed like he'd just pulled the prank of the century.  
"You could at least give me some fresh air," Thaddeus noted in a stretched, mocking voice.

"That is what the air conditioning is for," Gadreel replied and closed the door.


	22. A Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was hoping a few more people would have found something to say about the last chapters, but alas, gotta move on.

* * *

 

A part of Sam wanted to walk out, find the nearest river and throw himself into it. Instead he repeatedly found his foot rubbing against Gadreel's under the table even as his fingers turned pages on a book or kept shoveling cereals in to his mouth. The nausea was gone, but he tried not to tempt it by thinking about it too long. The same seemed to go for his nightmares. It wouldn't last - he knew that well enough - but for the time being, it was a miracle that he welcomed and embraced with all his heart. Every time his eyes met with the angels, often by accident, he burst into a ridiculous smile and had to turn away to contain himself.

_You are an idiot,_ he kept telling himself.  
 _This is unbelievable._

All of a sudden he no longer felt like a man approaching his forties. He felt like a damn teenager. He felt a thousand things and even though most of them roused anxiety within him that constricted his breathing and made shivers cross through him, they were overwhelmingly positive and the only thing that he failed was to let himself go with them, as if he'd been too careful for far too long and like all that time had made him forget what being alive and in love felt like.

"Throw me an apple?"

Gadreel never threw anything. He handed things to Sam like the things were made of porcelain and valued beyond his paycheck. To be fair, they probably did, even without being porcelain, but Sam didn't do much better - he still took the odd job here and there, he'd even taken a few repair gigs when his newly found freedom had threatened to drive him stir crazy, but in general his money was not his own and more often it was brought home by Dean instead. With that thought in mind he turned to look at Gadreel again as he accepted the apple; the man he'd possessed was dead. Technically, everything he'd owned - every debt he'd ever had - was on Gadreel now. The hunter made a note to check up on what he could find about the vessel on a better time, but today wasn't a day he wanted to spend looking at pictures of a dead man who looked like the one he'd slept with the day before.

That memory stirred a jump in the pit of his stomach and a heavy blush rose up to his cheeks; he crossed his legs and let out a small, frustrated sound that prompted a frown from the older.

"Thanks."

The thanks was delayed, but pushed Sam's thoughts back to a more productive line. He bit into the apple, wishing he could hate himself again if only just to gain some sense of normalcy to the morning.

"Dean estimated he'll be back by four."

Gadreel nodded.  
"Have you heard of Castiel?"

With his mouth full of cereals again, Sam shook his head.  
"Not a peep."

"Should there be cause for concern?"

The younger lifted his head and examined Gadreel. Then, slowly, he shook his head again.  
"Not yet. Let's... not worry yet. He's probably fine. But if we hear nothing of him today, then I guess we'll need to start asking around. Some other angel might know. Hannah, maybe."

"Hannah?" Gadreel repeated, a small smile upon him, "She is alive."

"What?"  
Sam's brain hit a halt and the silence in the room kept him in that void for a minute. Then, suddenly, he realised that Gadreel had no idea who'd survived and who had not; he hadn't been there to see it.  
"Oh, yeah. Hannah's - yeah. From what I hear, she's done quite a lot with keeping order in Heaven ever since leaving Earth. She's still working with Castiel. I don't know much past that, I'm sorry."

Gadreel nodded.  
"I am glad to hear she is alright."

Sam gave him a small smile before returning to his book and wiping off a drop of milk from the pages. He'd gotten sloppy with caring for these things, but this particular book could still afford a few stains before it was to be considered endangered, and with a grimace he let the mistake slip.  
"I'm gonna talk with Dean tonight, I guess."

"About us?"

"Yeah."  
A shiver crossed Sam and the grimace on him stuck.  
"Not looking forwards to it but I think it's time."

Gadreel's hand crossed across the table and entered his vision, gently picking up his hand from the book and holding it carefully.  
"You wish this to last."

"I'm going to work to make sure it does," Sam replied, still without facing the older.  
He couldn't bring himself to, but his grimace was softening to a smile again.  
"I hope it'll be enough."

Gadreel's grip over his hand turned tighter for a moment before he let go and returned to his side of the table.  
"I will do my best to give you what you need."

"Just do your best to stay alive and we'll figure out the rest, really," Sam chuckled and finally glanced at him.  
Their eyes met and they watched one another for a moment, small smiles on both before Gadreel finally lowered his gaze and Sam did the same.

"I do not know what I've done to deserve not only your forgiveness but your affection and kindness, but if all you wish of me in return is that I will live, then I don't think that I have a choice."

"Sounds good to me."  
Sam turned the page and his eyes instantly caught a glimpse of the word _tablet_ written on the opening before him, and he quickly brought his finger upon it to read the context around it without losing the spot.  
"Could you get me another cup of coffee? Please. I think I might have something here."

"Of course."

 

* * *

 

"Sam."  
Castiel's voice was grave but he didn't sound injured or strained in any way, and it brought a sense of relief to Sam.

"Hi, Cas. How's it going?"

"Could - could be better. I tried calling Dean but his phone is dead."

"He's probably in a dead zone, try again in a bit, I'm pretty sure he wants to hear from you."

A smile could be heard from the way Castiel breathed out, and the silence over the line stretched to a fond one. Sam rolled his eyes as he leaned to the wall of the study, folders piled under his free arm.  
"So... what's going on?"

"I haven't had much luck figuring that out," Castiel replied with some frustration replacing the heartfelt fondness in him, "I know that Raphael is still located where she was resurrected, but that is the extent of it. Some angels seem to be disappearing from their holds and that is what I'm looking into now. I'm afraid they might be off to join her, but I hope that we may yet reason with her. Perhaps she's learned a lesson. She is very powerful but I hope that this time, she will use that power to adapt to the way we've set Heaven to abide by. We could use her help. It's not much, but it's the best I can do for now."

"Hope?"

"Yes, Sam. Hope."

Sam closed his eyes and breathed for a moment.  
"Cas," he continued then, "I think..."

"Yes?"

"I... Nevermind."  
A grimace crossed the hunter's features and he shivered. He didn't know what to say.

"Is it about Gadreel?" Castiel asked, worry in his voice again.

"Yeah, I..."

"Sam, is everything alright?"

The grimace turned back to a tired smile. Sam nodded although there was no way for it to communicate to Castiel.  
"Yeah. Everything's fine. I just... I think - what we have - it's... it's gonna stay, I guess. So I just... thought you should know. I'll talk to Dean later, and I'm kind of worried how he'll take it. He already thinks I'm off the rocker so - so yeah."

"If that is what you feel is best for you, Sam, then you know that I'm happy for you."  
He didn't exactly sound happy to Sam's ear, but the sentiment had to do.  
"I wish it goes well."

"Me, too. Hey, Cas?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks."

The older huffed but a smile could be heard in the sound of it.  
"Of course. You are my friend, Sam, a good friend. If this is what will make you happy, then I will stand by that."

"You're worried," Sam noted with a crooked smile on him.

"I'm sorry. I should be - more supportive."

"It's okay. Really. If I ever have a doubt, you know I'll let you know about it. You don't need to worry. We're fine. We're both fine."

There was a tone of relief in the older's sigh.  
"Thank you for telling me, Sam. I - have to go now, but I hope I'll be back tonight. I can't promise, but I will try."

"Thanks, Cas. And good luck."

"To you as well, Sam."

 

* * *

 

Dean came back with a smile. He greeted Sam by hugging him, if only in passing, and by motioning him to follow him into the library. The room was empty - Gadreel had vanished sometime ago, and Sam hadn't located him since.  
The book Dean brought was, to Sam's surprise, a new edition. The frontpage announced it being a self-publication, which explained its rarity, but the contents of it were more of a surprise.

"It's clearly written by a hunter. It doesn't mention names, but it freaking describes the apocalypse as it happened. Guess Chuck didn't sue for that?"  
The brothers exchanged looks and Sam found himself grimacing.  
"Some information is off," Dean continued with a shrug, "from what I've read so far, but they guy or girl - they're good. There's a section that deals with 'modern prophets' that includes an interview almost twenty years ago with someone who - well - they claim to be a prophet. Now obviously we can't be certain, since they couldn't have read any of the tablets _we_ had, but it's possible they've come in contact with the resurrection tablet. By the sound of it, it's either an elaborate hoax or the real thing, a real gold mine, Sam."

"How much is there on the tablets?" Sam asked.  
His heart was skipping beats from excitement, and he no longer wondered about the hug.

"There's a section for three. I think we can just forget about the Tablet of 'Earth and Water' as it was called, and... man, I hate to say this, but the Tablet of Men as well. It says those are destroyed, anyway, so maybe we don't ever need to bother. The last one's called the Tablet of Essence, or the Tablet of Life, and the prophet claimed to have come by it on his trip to South America. He spent some time writing a book about the indigenous groups there and apparently came into possession of it through those connections somehow."

"What's his name?"

Dean shrugged.  
"Beats me," he said, "As far as I've read, it's never mentioned - likely for protection, or because the book is a big fat fake. Says he was Middle-Eastern 'looking' but that's about it for descriptions, really."

Sam nodded.  
"That's a lot more to work from than what we had," he admitted, smiling.

Dean was beaming; his whole face was lit up, eyes sparkling, as he nodded.  
"Damn, I'm so happy the trip turned out to be worth something. I don't know, maybe the book's worth its weight in something else, too. We have it for a month so we should probably copy the pages."

"Don't look at me," Sam huffed, "you're taking half the turns."

"Or the intern's taking _all_ the turns," Dean suggested, grinning, "Speaking of - where's Gadreel?"

Sam shrugged.  
"Around here somewhere. I lost him after he went upstairs an hour ago."

"And how's the guest?"

"Alive," Sam replied dully, "and about as hostile as ever."

Dean nodded.  
"Sounds great. Home sweet home."

"Yeah. Um, Dean - I've got to talk to you about something."

The older squinted; his beaming settled down somewhat, and he pulled up a seat for himself, patting the table as he sat down to invite Sam to do the same.  
"Bring it."

There wasn't a better time, and a chance like this might not come for a while again. Sam had prepared to talk with an exhausted, grumpy Dean who still missed Castiel and whose task had been lonely and likely fruitless, but here he sat with a man who was more than happy with himself and the day he'd had so far, which was an infinitely better soil to lay this discussion into than anything Sam could have imagine.  
Still his heart raced as he seated himself and went over the things he wanted to say, but he wasn't even certain where to start - he hadn't figured out a proper form for his confession yet.

"It's about Gadreel, kind of," he started, almost hearing the sigh he let out in his head at the terrible introduction.

"Okay?"

"Okay. So, we've talked a lot after he came back."  
How the hell was he to tell Dean what exactly was going on? He'd never introduced Dean to any of his relationships: Dean had usually walked right into the middle of them, never knowing the background of each, or he'd been there to watch them happen. How could he explain that this angel had turned out to become something more to him than either of them had ever expected, and that he was almost certain that it wasn't because he was repeating a trauma - and how could he do this all without giving too much detail, without making it awkward for them both?  
Sam missed the opportunity of grabbing the sleeve of his partner's, laying his hand between them and Dean, and saying the magic words that made everything clear: "Dean, this is my girlfriend."  
There were no words like that for him and Gadreel. Maybe one day there would be, but in this conversation which mattered the most, he was left without a roadmap - it was hit and miss, with each carrying almost an equal chance of facing hostility instead of acceptance, or even the attempt in such.  
"We've talked to see if - if there's a way we can move past what happened, mostly. But as I said earlier, we get along better than I expected. The problem I've had in the past..."

With girlfriends. This was the point where Sam hoped Dean would start catching up; where he'd get suspicious, start being afraid of this conversation. He could see it in the older's eyes as he kept talking, the slow realisation, the doubt, and it boosted his fighting spirit: if he didn't have a map, he'd build one for himself and hope it didn't fail him.

"... is that no one really gets me, Dean. I can't really explain to people what I've been through and make them understand, but he already does. So - turns out we have a lot in common, more than just the possession. And - I'm going to spare you the details, but... and please respect what I'm going to tell you, Dean, however much it makes you want to punch me or - or whatever, because... I fell in love with him. And - and that's it."

There was a silence so full and throughout that Sam could feel it press against his eardrums. His heart was beating loud and fast but not as fast as it could have; the pressure of that combined with the silence and made him feel like each pump was a tremor that shook his whole body. Dean's lips had parted, and in a moment's time he leaned back in his seat, running his hands across his pale face; he cast a stressed-out look towards the ceiling and the bookshelves as his right hand still tugged at his chin and his lower lip only to slowly, finally, slide off completely. His hands hit his palm so heavily that a slapping sound penetrated the silence, but he still wasn't looking at Sam and Sam could have sworn he saw him shiver. In a moment's time, Dean dragged his hand over the lower half of his face again and now leaned forwards, sliding his elbow on the table and his hand eventually into his hair as if to caress himself, and his gaze at last fell towards Sam.  
"Why'd you tell me that?" he asked in a weak, raspy voice.

"Because he knows. Cas figured it out, too. Because it changes the dynamic. Because we don't keep secrets from each other. Because you deserve to know. Because I want you to know, and because I trust you, and, finally, because you're my brother, and I love you."

"Jesus."  
Dean let his arms collapse onto the table before him and he hid his head into them for a bit. He looked as if asleep - his back rose and fell steadily but no other movement could be seen in him, and Sam watched him feeling oddly empty inside, like he'd said everything he wanted to and everything he could and this was no longer something that he tried to control. He was an open vessel for whatever would come next, but so far, the reaction had been better than he'd dared to hope for. At least he hadn't been shaken yet.

Finally Dean lifted his head again only to lean it onto his other hand instead, and his eyes moved around the library looking blind and unfocused. Eventually they found Sam's shape again and Dean watched him for a while without speaking.  
"So you're - together. That's the only reason I can think of you ever coming out to me about this. Sam, fuck your speeches about openness and _love_ and whatever, I know that you wouldn't tell me if it wasn't because it's already happening."

"You'd be right."

"Oh, God."  
Sam wasn't exactly surprised to see the man cover his face with his palms again.  
"I think I need a moment," Dean spoke into his hands.

Sam nodded although Dean had no chance of seeing it through the wall his fingers created between himself and the real world.  
"Sure."  
He'd already taken quite a few - spending another would hardly make a difference.

At last the barrier finally broke and Dean laid his palms over the table in front of him. He moved the book towards him and opened it, not to read it or even to look at it but rather just to do something with his hands, something other than cower behind them.  
"I thought you were straight," he finally managed to say.

Sam shrugged.  
"Me too."

"Are you?"

"I haven't really thought about it."

"The hell's going on? I thought you hated him."

"I - don't hate him. I don't know if I ever did, really. I was angry and hurt because of what he did and you should know that, but... yeah. As I said, we've talked."

"And what about Kevin? You okay with that, too?"

Sam swallowed.  
"I know why he did it," he said, dodging the question.

"And you can live with that?"

The younger shrugged again.  
"I already live with it, Dean. I live with it every night. It's not like I've forgotten."  
His eyes scanned Dean's and he saw the embarrasment flash behind the confusion in them.  
"The thing is, he makes me feel - better. I don't have nightmares when he's around. I feel okay, for the most part, when I'm with him."

"What'd Cas say?" Dean suddenly asked, ignoring what Sam had said, likely only because he had no argument to present for that - Sam knew what he thought, because he'd thought it the same, but he was glad that the older was choosing to not question his sanity and motivations now.

"Cas... is worried, I guess. And I don't blame him, I don't blame you either. I've been pretty terrified myself, it's not like this is easy, you know? But he's let me decide for myself. It's really none of his business anyway."

"How long?" the older asked, now with a hint of despair in his voice.

Sam watched him for a moment before shrugging.  
"Not long. A couple days. It's not like we've had the time to come up with a bigger conspiracy than that. I never meant for him to know but he kind of walked in on it. Not... the way you're thinking, stop thinking about it, but in a way that didn't really leave many alternatives. He brought it up and I was honest about it. While you were gone, I tried to figure out what I want so I could tell you, too, and this is it. I want this, and I hope it's gonna work out. If it won't, well, I guess that's that."

"You're serious, aren't you. This isn't a really, extremely early April's Fools."

"No."

"You're saying that I'm going to have to spend Christmas this year and bring a present to your fucking significant other who murdered my friend and screwed you six ways to Sunday _before_ you let him screw you in the way you're currently implying."

"No one's screwing me," Sam uttered before he could stop himself, now rubbing his own face out of stress and frustration.

"Well, thanks for correcting that image in my head."

They stared at each other for a moment before Sam finally sighed, shaking his head.  
"No. I'm not telling you you have to buy a present for him and pretend you love him because I do. That's not what I'm saying. I just want you to know how it is so that you won't ever have to find out that I kept it from you."

"And my opinion?"

"Yeah?"

"That hold any weight to you?"

A weary smile crossed Sam's lips.  
"I'm open to hearing it," he said with half a shrug, "and of course it matters to me, but you don't - this is on me, Dean."

"Yeah, it _is_ on you. I'm just not sure - Sammy, I'm not sure if you're in a place where you - where you can make that decision. Don't get me wrong I - I'm not going to make it for you. I just... with what you told me before, you're not okay, and it has _everything_ to do with Gadreel. Now you're suddenly bending for him and think that you love him and while that would be great in any other circumstance that you find someone you - you feel you can... shit, Sam, I just - I can't - I'm not sure if it's you talking or if it's... what _I_ put you through."

"You think I haven't thought about that? That I haven't thought about that the _whole week?_ "

Dean's expression turned to somewhat ashamed, but Sam could see that he refused to regret what he'd said. He had the right to, but it still hurt.  
"Look, I have. And of course it's - it's not unlikely that what happened between us plays a part. I'm sure that it does, actually, but the fact is, I don't feel worse about it. I felt bad when he reappeared but I feel a lot better every time I talk with him, every time I'm with him, and it doesn't seem to have a negative effect on me. Don't think I haven't been looking for one. I expected everything to get worse if I gave into it. But I'm happy, Dean, really. I'm just worried about the normal things - whatever's normal for us, anyway. And I'll get worse again just like I'll get better and he won't fix me, but he's not hurting me either. I can take care of myself, Dean. I can."

"You promise me?" Dean asked him, and Sam nodded.

"I promise. And it's not to you, either, it's more to myself; I've got to put myself first here. I know that. But so far... it's been good. Which is why I'm letting you know. So... while I won't be asking you to take care of me and your opinion isn't going to make it or break it, I know that you're going to keep an eye on me too and if you think I'm getting worse or whatever, tell me. Cas will, too. You're not alone and I'm not alone and now that we all know, I think - I think we'll be alright."

The older looked down at his hands and the book and they were both silent again for a while, but there wasn't such an electrified pressure to the quiet anymore. Now it was Sam's turn to watch the library walls while he waited, and he felt somehow lighter than before, relieved; it hadn't been half as bad as he'd expected. Painful, yes, and somewhat toxic to his patience, but that was the best outcome he could have possibly imagined.

"Sammy?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. I - I trust you. And for what it's worth, I don't - I won't try to change your mind. It's not my place. And I'll try to... I'll try to get used to it, too. It might take a while."

"Thank you. That's all I ask, really."


	23. A Place Called Home

* * *

 

Gadreel looked around the old bags of soil set by the walls of the greenhouse. He'd never seen this part of the bunker before and judging by the cobwebs and the dust, the brothers hadn't been here much either. But he liked it - he'd liked it the moment he'd walked in. It was quiet and it smelled of earth and although dead plants littered the walls and the boxes of dry, infertile, dusty soil, the pots and the jars and the sticks holding the dead vines in place, he could imagine what it would look like if someone put time and work into it: it could flourish again, and perhaps it could be useful for the brothers as well. He wondered if he could ask to take it for his own, or at least if he could take it upon himself to care for it if someone else wanted to do it, too, but by the looks of it, it seemed to be up for anyone to claim - he'd just need new equipment, seeds and better quality fresh soil for planting. Water still ran when he tried the hose, and he washed his dirty fingertips under the flow before shutting the flow down. Not a drop came out afterwards, implying that everything was still in order with the system even after all these years.  
There was no natural light down here but he knew that could be imitated by lamps, and most plants wouldn't know the difference. He sat in the creaky chair by the wall and looked around him, closed his eyes and breathed in deep. His phone vibrated; he'd forgotten he had it in the first place.  
Some curiosity replacing the deep calm inside him he brought the phone to his ear.  
"Sam."

"I can't find you anywhere. Where the hell are you?"  
The hunter's voice didn't sound frustrated - it sounded amused, cheerful.

"I found a greenhouse."

"You still there?"

"Yes."

"I'll come there in a bit. Stay there, okay?"

"Alright."

The call ended and Gadreel returned the phone into his pocket. His palms tingled and his chest seemed to fill with something light as he drew in another deep exhale, body relaxing further into the seat. It took Sam less than five minutes to arrive; he opened the door Gadreel had left ajar behind him and stepped inside, nodding towards the angel for a greeting and then casting an examining look around the dusty interior.  
"You like it?" he asked.

"I do," Gadreel said in a warm voice, "I was wondering if it would be possible for me to bring some life back into it."

Sam turned to look at him with a small smile on his lips.  
"If you want to," he said with a shrug, "That'd be great. I thought about it when I dropped off from hunting but I'm not a gardener, so... I never got to it. I could help around, though."

Gadreel nodded.  
"That would be much appreciated," he replied, smiling as well, "Did you already speak with your brother?"

"Yeah."  
Sam's expression turned more hesitant.  
"I think he took it alright. Much better than I expected, anyway. But it'll take time for him to get used to it. Meanwhile... at least we don't have to hide anything."  
He reached a hand to grab Gadreel's shirt and he brought the angel up to stand with him, leaning in to kiss him on the mouth. The older responded, leaning in to the warmth of the younger's body beside him, and the kiss lingered although he was smiling into it and making it quite difficult to uphold. Sam's hands pressed over his waist and when the kiss eventually did break, he leaned over into Gadreel's hold with the angel bringing his own arms around him to support his weight. The man let out a small sigh and closed his eyes, his body resting against Gadreel's and his head leaning down over his shoulder, and Gadreel felt his heart beating beside his own body even as his grace reached to connect with the soul that resided within.

"I wanted to talk to you," Sam continued after a while, "I just didn't have the words, and I don't know if I have them now."

"I am listening."

"I know you didn't want me to touch you earlier - so I didn't, but I feel kind of... I feel really selfish for it. I just wanted to know if you could tell me why you don't want it, so that I get it better."

"You mean -"

"I mean the sex, yeah."

Gadreel stayed quiet for a moment, thinking; his fingers brushed through Sam's hair repeatedly, slowly, as he tried to find the words for it.  
"I am not sure if it is what I want," he finally said, "perhaps in time I will feel different, but for now, I... I do not feel ready for it. I am still not used to my body and the experiences it enables me, and some of them are... strong. I do not feel in control of what I feel when you touch me. It is not necessarily a negative experience, merely a very different one to what I am used to. The only thing as strong as that which I have had experience of is pain, and while it does not necessarily remind me of it, I... couldn't help the association. I am sorry."

"No, that's okay. I just wanted to hear you out on it so I can understand why you want it to be this way. You didn't - you didn't have an issue touching me, right?"

"No. It feels natural, even though I am unused to it as well. This is something that you need and I am well able to provide; it feels good to see you enjoy it."

Sam nodded, and Gadreel felt his smile even as his aura swirled to brighter colours.  
"You make me feel great," the hunter said after a moment, "I know you probably still feel like you don't really get it but you have a great instinct for what I need. I'm not usually... I mean, I don't need sex as much as - I'm okay, most the time, but after the first time..."  
He let out a chuckle and pulled away from Gadreel's hold, smiling.  
"I feel like I could spend a week with you like that and I wouldn't get bored of it."

The older blushed; he turned to look at the dead plants surrounding them and imagined, for a while, what it would look like if it was green and humid and alive. His heart raced and his grace felt uplifted by the words spoken to him but he still didn't know how to properly respond to it, or how to embrace compliments in the first place. It had been such a long time since he'd been given so many in such a small amount of time - since he'd been so genuinely appreciated for something he'd felt was only natural for him to provide. He turned to look back at Sam and nodded.  
"Perhaps we will find the time and place for that."

"Wow."  
Sam laughed.  
"You'd really just lock yourself up with me in a bedroom for a week?"

"I have nothing against the idea," Gadreel admitted, "while I imagine it might be excessive."

"Yeah, no kidding. But... yeah. Maybe we'll have time to - to be like we got to be yesterday. When the current situation clears up... maybe we can go somewhere."  
Sam shrugged - his eyes wandered about the view of the room, of Gadreel, and stopped by the older's mouth.  
"Or when Dean and Cas go hunting again... we might have a week to ourselves. We can do anything. And... I'm glad," the younger said with a shrug, "that I don't have to face that alone anymore."

Gadreel nodded.  
"I will do my best to have the chance to stay here with you," he promised, "even if the situation worsens, I... feel that this is where I belong now. With you."

"Really?"

The angel nodded again, a hint of a smile on his features although there was weight in that expression - it felt strange to have his priorities shift in this manner, but he truly felt that his place was here with Sam and nowhere else anymore.  
"I care for you greatly, Sam Winchester. There is no place I would rather be than by your side, as often and for as long as I can. I am happy to hear you are of a more positive mind today than you were yesterday."

"Huh?"  
Sam raised his brows, but before Gadreel could elaborate, he'd already made the connection.  
"Yeah... Yeah. I mean, I still think there'll be a war, and that I'll be a part of it, and as always... it won't end well. After that there'll be another war, and - one day, I'm going to die."  
He shrugged, reaching out a hand to touch the older's arm as if to seek comfort from it to chase away the discomfort that the topic brought inside him.  
"It's probably going to be bloody. But before then, there's still going to be times like this when things aren't so bad. Small victories and quiet phases."  
His smile caught onto Gadreel although it was painful for the older to imagine the burden this life placed upon Sam. Their eyes met and Sam's expression brightened further, as if just the sight of Gadreel returned to him some of the faith he'd had just a moment ago.  
"And it doesn't look so bad out there when I have all of this to fall back to. You, Dean, Cas - Charlie, Garth - a home to return to. I feel okay. I haven't felt okay in a long while but right now, it looks like things might be changing."

Gadreel let him sink back into the embrace they'd broken a moment ago.

"I think gardening will fit into that picture just fine, too," Sam muttered against his chest, and Gadreel's smile widened.  
He closed his eyes and held the younger against him tighter just to feel him there with him and all the hope and faith that he carried inside him, praying, even if it was for nothing, that the world wouldn't take it away from Sam again.

 

* * *

 

"You, _again_."  
Thaddeus was sitting on his bed when Gadreel opened the door; the older didn't so much as lift a brow at the greeting, and instead he set the tray on the floor again and pushed it into the room with the meal set upon it. Dean had given it to him without looking him in the eye, but the words they'd exchanged had at least been neutral in tone, if not completely without strain.

The younger angel slid on his feet and came to pick up the food with an aura of pride about him when he returned without so much as casting a look towards Gadreel.

"I have a request. You say I'm a guest here, and I'm unarmed. I want to make a peace offering, Gadreel. I want to be friends."

"I sincerely doubt that you do," the sentry responded in a calm voice.

"Caught me. But, really, what's the worst that can happen?"

"With you, there is no limit to my imagination. But entertain me, Thaddeus."

The glare the younger cast at him brought Gadreel an immense sense of satisfaction, as petty as it was.  
"Fine," the torturer finally uttered, "I will. I want space to move and air to breathe. I'm not a prisoner and you have no reason to imprison me -"

"I have many," Gadreel cut him off coldly, but Thaddeus ignored him.

"- so I would like to request that these sigils are to be removed. I won't ask for my blade back, but I want to be treated with dignity, and this is undignified and unfair. I can trust you to bring my request to the ears of my hosts, right, Gadreel? You're still hanging to your twisted version of honour, if I'm not completely mistaken."

"I will tell them, but do not expect them to grant you anything."

"Good. That's all I wanted to hear. That I'm being, you know, heard."

Gadreel nodded; he couldn't stop himself from rolling his eyes as he turned, hand on the door's handle ready to pull it closed behind him.

"You know, brother, why I hate you so much?" Thaddeus called after him, stopping the older on his tracks.  
"I bet you've never given it much thought."

Slowly, the sentry turned around, jaw clenching.  
"And why should I care?" he asked, the calm in him wavering.

"Because, you know... there used to be a time when I didn't."

"I quite honestly could not be less interested."

"I bet you could," Thaddeus said with a shrug, bringing the first half of a sauce-soaked potato past his lips, effectively shutting himself up.

Gadreel glared at him, considering. He'd wondered about it, of course, but it had been a long time ago - back when he'd first realised that the hatred Thaddeus felt for him was distinctively different from that he showed the other prisoners, perhaps Abner excluded, but he'd only hated Abner because Abner had loved Gadreel, and therefore his reason had eventually bound back to the origin of his hatred for the sentry himself. It had been personal, yet Gadreel couldn't trace it to anything in particular; of course, angels such as Metatron had hated him for his perceived part in God's absence, but that had never seemed the case for Thaddeus. No, he'd seemed personally wounded by Gadreel, and it had, once, bothered the older. Truth was however that he'd really stopped giving it a thought long while ago, and his care for the other's mindings had ceased with those thoughts.

"Are you going to educate me on your private musings, then, brother?" he asked wearily.

"No," Thaddeus replied lightly, smugly, "I just wanted to remind you of those reasons existing."

Gadreel sighed.  
"Enjoy your meal," he heard himself say before closing the door.  
As he crossed the corridor back towards the library, he felt a distinctive need to punch a hole through the wall on his side.

 

* * *

 

Sam couldn't hold back the shivering breaths as the older's fingertips pressed into his tense muscles. He kept the ink-smelling, freshly printed papers in front of his face but concentration avoided him - he was lying on his bed stomach against the covered mattress and after a little coaxing and reassuring, he'd managed to tempt Gadreel over him, taking him by his promise to continue the massage from the other day. The angel's touches were gentle but firm and he was throughout without any sign of growing tired of the motions. He breathed calmly and that relaxation was mirrored by Sam's body just the same.

"I hope Cas gets Dean to wind off," the hunter muttered, giving in and closing his eyes. His reading didn't seem to be progressing anywhere for the time being.   
"Has he said anything to you yet?"

"Of your conversation?"  
Gadreel pressed his palms over the long muscles of Sam's back and leaned in over him.  
"No, he has not. But he did speak to me, if only to give me instructions."

"I guess that's better than nothing."

"I am sure it is."

Sam smiled wearily. He breathed in deep and tried to let go of the lingering tension in his body; it was easy to get lost in the hold of the older's, and although he'd initially still expected to feel some reservations about letting the male in such a powerful position over him, he no longer felt anything of the sort. At the end of the day, his trust didn't seem to be superficial at all - there was no reservation in him anymore, and if there had been before, it had slipped away when they'd made love the day before. The memory still made him shiver and a part of him wished they'd had another day to waste, and as if knowing what he was thinking of, Gadreel leaned down and placed a small, lingering kiss over the middle of his exposed shoulders.

"Thaddeus had a request," the older spoke then instead of giving voice to any shared thoughts between them.

"Oh?"

"He wished for more freedom. I find it ironic that he should ask such a thing of me, but even though he does not deserve it, I gave my word to make his will heard."

"Realistically..." Sam muttered, falling quiet after a grunt cut him off.  
The angel's fingertips seemed to spread warm into a particularly locked, tense part in his body and he just wanted to purr to the feeling of that area being gently massaged open again - he had trouble concentrating on any unpleasantries through the haze Gadreel was stirring in him.  
"Realistically, if we're ever to have another angel here, which doesn't... seem entirely unlikely," he finally continued, "we can't keep them locked up like we're doing now."

Gadreel sighed.  
"I do not trust him, and I would advise anyone to be as cautious. He is not an ally, and he will never hold a cause beyond his own; he is solely driven by his own desires and benefit."

"Yeah. I figured. Cas said he might come back tonight and if he can, I'll make sure he finds another place for Thaddeus to stay in. He's overstayed, and I mean that for more reasons than just because you two share history. But for today... maybe there's no harm in letting him loose."  
Sam thought for a moment before sighing and burying his head in his arms. Gadreel reached for his neck and bent his fingertips to the sides of it, carrying on the gentle but firm massage he'd started from the younger's mid-back without showing any signs of how the conversation was affecting him, if it was at all; Sam could have sworn that it did, and he expected no less.  
"He's wounded and he's still weak. It's likely he can't really even move. We can't seal off the library but we can temporarily ward some sections against angels - sorry - as well as some corridors, mainly the ones leading downstairs to the gun range and weapons storage."

The angel's grip of his neck grew looser for a moment before Gadreel returned to his work like he'd never hesitated; the sigh he let out spoke of unvoiced thoughts that Sam waited for until it became clear that he wasn't going to gain access to them without asking directly.  
"Come on. Complain."

"I do not wish for him to walk free."

"And that's perfectly fine. I guess you'd also like to protest having your access restricted because of him."

Gadreel nodded hesitantly. Sam sighed, grabbed his hand and struggled to turn around: they ended in the same position but with Sam on his back and Gadreel sitting on his hips, the angel's hand resting upon the man's exposed chest. He didn't look Sam in the eye but his fingertips drew the outline of the tattoo on the younger's skin; it was still darker than Dean's, but it had been a while since it had been done to replace the one that Castiel had taken from Sam to allow Crowley access to his body. The thought made the younger nauseous and he shivered, cheeks burning and eyes stinging; he blinked and looked up to drive away the tears and he hated the way his heart raced inside him. His hands wrapped around Gadreel's wrists and slid up from there until he held him by the shoulders, and with his breath still hitching from the memories he pulled the male down over him and into a kiss. It was a slow one, lingering even as he brought his hands over the older's hips and held them to feel every movement, although it was clear that the angel was being careful to not move them much, perhaps out of fear of arousing the younger. Sam didn't want any of that; he pressed the male's body down and brought his thighs up against Gadreel's back.

"Do you think you'll be happy here like this?" he asked into the kiss, eyes closed again.

The angel on top of him stayed to breathe, hesitating with his answer.  
"With you?" he finally asked, uncertain.

"With me, with what we are, once Thaddeus is gone and it's business as usual - blood and tears and sleepless nights and all the nightmares I'll have and with the mess that I am. When Heaven's... when you're ready to leave, do you think - do you think you'll stay?"

"When I'm ready to go back home?"

"Mm."

Their foreheads pressed together.

"I don't want to lose you," Sam spoke to the limited space between them, "but you're still an angel and you've never said you'll stay forever. I know what you want the most and you can't find it with me."

"Sam," Gadreel replied with a hint of a sigh following the man's name, "I call this place my home now. I will return to you. Wherever I go, this is where I will return as long as it remains open to me - and I will follow you, should you ask me to, even beyond this world. If this ties back to Thaddeus..."

"It doesn't. It's not about Thaddeus. I'm not guilt-tripping you into letting your torturer walk free, or being imprisoned in what you just called your home. That's not - I'm just... Can I really make you happy here?"  
The younger opened his eyes to gaze at the angel who was now smiling at him.

"I worry about the same things in reverse," he stated then, "If I am good for you; if I can ever take away the pain that I caused you. The nightmares may be gone when I rest by your side but as you said, they will be back, and I know that what I did to you is at the core of them. I do not wonder whether I would be happy here, but at what cost my happiness comes with, and if that is a price that can or should be paid. I do not wish you harm, Sam Winchester. Yet I fear that it is what I will bring you regardless of the good will between us."

They kissed again by Sam's initiation; he pressed into that touch with more than just his lips, his whole body seeking contact with the older's as they shared the gesture.  
"I feel guilty for pushing this on you," he hissed like something was hurting in him and the sentence was a lash against the source of that pain.

"I have chosen my place, and it is here beside you," Gadreel replied in an affectionate but weighted tone of voice.

"You didn't answer my question."

The angel smiled before leaning back out of the kiss and sighing. His hips settled over Sam's and their fingers joined, entwined.  
"Can you make me happy here?" he repeated, his smile turning crooked as he nodded.  
"You already have. There is no other place I long for. This is home to me now, Sam. It is all that I could ask for."


	24. True Form

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified."_   
>  \- Luke 2:9 

* * *

 

Castiel returned in the midst of supper; Gadreel turned to watch as Dean crossed the room with milk still stuck to his stubble from the bowl of cereals he'd been eating without so much as a hint of appetite. The older hunter hung himself over the angel's frame and Castiel held him in turn, nose pressing to Dean's short hair and eyes closing as he breathed in the scent of him. They exchanged words while still stuck in the embrace and Castiel nodded as they finally parted: he watched Dean for a moment, their hands joined, before finishing with a word that Gadreel didn't wish to decipher and then they parted, a weary look on Dean's features and a tired smile on Castiel's.  
He hugged Sam next, and while their hug was not half as intimate as the one shared between him and Dean, it lasted just as long before breaking.

"I will talk with the angel," Castiel said, casting a longing look at the table, "I'll tell you what we agree on, if anything, once it is done."

"There's pancake in the oven," Dean noted, ignoring the seraph's sentence in its entirety.

Castiel nodded with a smile on his lips.  
"Spare some for me," he replied.

"Castiel."

"Gadreel?"

"It is good to see you."

The smile on the older widened as he nodded again.  
"You look well, brother," he said before turning.

Gadreel felt the corners of his mouth twitching to the warmth inside him even as he turned back towards the papers in front of him. He'd spent an hour printing them out, page by page copied from the book that Dean had brought back with him, but so far, there had been no useful information written in there that he would have been able to spot. Sam had his own pile in front of him again, while Dean was eating with the book itself in front of him, occasionally wiping drops of milk from the table dangerously close to the pages.

"This says," Dean stated after a moment had passed in silence and Castiel's footsteps had disappeared back into the corridor, "that if there is a tablet that can resurrect angels - the existence of which, hilariously, the book claims 'merely theoretical', so that's a good start - it'd likely be something called 'a minor' Word."

"That... doesn't sound right," Sam huffed, slipping a page onto the pile of used ones and revealing a fresh one from below, "I mean - if it can give life, it should be a big deal, right?"

"I don't know. If it just copies, or whatever, then it's not exactly groundbreaking. Besides, if the only thing it can do is to raise angels - clones or the real deal - then I'm not sure it's such a big deal. Yeah, raising archangels is a big freaking deal to us, but the demon tablet had everything on it, about Hell and controlling it and possession and demon killing bombs, you name it. It was useful. This piece of crap? Not so much."

"It doesn't copy angels, Dean. I think we established that much already."

The older gave a glance towards Gadreel's direction and the angel responded to it calmly. No, he didn't feel like he'd been copied.

"I don't care what it does," Dean stated after a moment's battle with the angel's gaze, turning back down, "it doesn't matter."  
His phone, set on the table beside him, vibrated. Sam and Gadreel both watched him pick it up; he bit his lip as he scrolled through the message, sighing before placing the phone back down. For a moment he rubbed at his eyes and topped the gesture with a yawn even though the time was barely past nine in the evening.  
"Surge in demonic activity," he finally reported, "in Wisconsin. Related?"

"Could be."

Sam's gaze turned towards the speakers hidden in the room and Gadreel followed them, but he couldn't feel any surges running through the system around them if the generic flow of electricity was ignored.  
In a moment's time Sam lowered his eyes again and sighed as he picked up the pages.  
"Maybe it's nothing."

"Raphael's something," Dean noted with a raised brow.

"Raphael's a problem," Sam agreed, "but I mean - maybe this is just - I don't know."

"If you're thinking God again -"

"Dean, I don't know what I'm thinking of. The point is, maybe it has nothing to do with us. Maybe it's just Heaven versus Hell for once."

"Yeah, and we're not going to awkwardly get caught in the middle like happened the last time."

"Maybe not."

For some reason, both of the brothers turned to look at Gadreel at once; he lifted his eyes slowly from the papers in front of him and answered the peering gazes with a questioning one. Dean gave up first, and Sam just seemed to be looking at him for the sake of it: he gave the older a small smile before following Dean's lead and returning to the pages.  
Suddenly, a stinging feeling ran through Gadreel's spine.

"Alarm," he managed to utter before the sirens began screaming in full and the bunker's lighting turned down to be replaced by flashing red.

"Aw, come on!" Dean groaned, slamming the book closed, "I'll go look at the map."

"Yeah," Sam agreed, jumping up after the older.

Gadreel followed them idly; he was curious to see what the map would show, but at the end of the day he was just as much at a loss about the meaning of it as the brothers were.

"Wisconsin. Surprised people hands up," the older brother announced, patting the map as Sam and Gadreel entered the room after him.

"Did we ever figure out how to turn that down?" Sam yelled over the sirens.

"Nope. Enjoy the show."

It lasted for ten seconds more before calming down: the red lights would linger for an hour or so, but at least the noise was gone. There was no sign of Castiel and Gadreel assumed he was stuck with Thaddeus still, perhaps judging that as more important for the time being; perhaps he even had other angels set to tracking down the freshly resurrected ones now. They hadn't had the chance to talk since he'd disappeared before.

"How many?"

"Uh, just - one - but it's..."

Sam leaned over the map.  
"Shit."

"Yeah. That's a big one."

"Who are we missing?"

"Uh, can we discount Michael and Lucifer?"

"I guess. Technically, they're not dead, exactly."

"Gabriel?"

"Or a double event."

"This isn't _Pacific Rim_ , Sam."

"Shut up."  
Sam lifted himself up on the map and gazed at the big red dot in the area between Dean's thumb and index finger. Then, unexpectedly, he let out a hoarse laughter.  
"I hate just sitting here," he stated sourly.

Dean nodded.  
"I'm gonna call up a few guys, tell 'em to be careful but report if anything turns up. Then I'm gonna find Cas. You two, stick here in case anything changes."

Gadreel and Sam both nodded, eyes locking; Gadreel aimed a small smile back at Sam and Sam's aura swirled with warmth in response to it. When Dean's footsteps had disappeared into the red-tinted corridor, the younger reached his hand and grabbed Gadreel's sleeve. He brought him closer and patted the map - Gadreel sat on the edge like he'd done, wondering if seeing him relaxed made the younger feel more at ease or if there was some other reason for him to want them on the same level.  
"Did you know the archangels? Other than... the obvious."

Gadreel nodded slowly.  
"I am old," he said, "There was a time when I would speak to them often. I received many of my orders through them rather than directly from God."

Sam's mouth twitched.  
"It's... weird to talk to someone who's actually seen Him," he explained.

Gadreel couldn't help smiling.  
"I am one of the few," he replied, "but even though He called me His most trusted, there was little communication between us. I did what He ordered me to, and never questioned it."

"So what happened with Lucifer?"

The older hesitated.  
"I did what I thought was right," he said then, "I did what I thought was best for mankind, as I'd been ordered to do. Lucifer, of course, was deceitful of his intentions, and it was my mistake to trust him. But I do not regret it. I... cannot. I was following my orders."

"Do you think it's your fault? That God left. Cas - Cas said it was when you were possessing me; Dean told me about it a while ago."

Gadreel shook his head.  
"I do not understand God," he said quietly, eyes scanning Sam's - he knew the pain he felt at the words was visible upon him, "whether His leaving was because of me or because of something else, I will never know. But I do not believe my actions could be that significant, or that I could do something so wrong that God Himself would abandon His creation for it. I am not that important, Sam. I have never been very important - I was made special because He chose me to be special. Behind the title, I was always just another angel, a guardian like anyone else. Perhaps there is something that sets me apart, but it is not power or strength or wisdom."

"You've probably taken a guess what that'd be?" Sam asked; his smile was prodding, almost teasing, and Gadreel couldn't help giving a smile to it in turn.

He nodded.  
"I think it is because I have always loved mankind beyond everything else, as He asked of us. I never hesitated - it is in who I am to protect you without question, to love you even more than I could ever love Him. I saw the wonder in humanity before most angels did, and many, I believe, still find it difficult to understand. I have faith in you and I have always had; I believe this is what made me different, why God chose me above others."

Sam's smile softened and the teasing edge disappeared from it entirely. He nodded and turned back towards the map.  
"Any idea who this could be?"

"I could not know. I am not certain if I can hear the angelic communications here - the walls seem to block most of it, if not all of it, from me."

"I just hope it wasn't..."  
The younger's voice trailed off before he cleared his throat and shook visibly.  
"I just hope the cage is still closed."

Gadreel nodded.  
"I would expect it to be. Do not worry before there is reason to," he said.  
In an uncertain movement he brought his hand over Sam's shoulder: Sam raised his eyes and smiled again, reaching to place his hand over Gadreel's in turn.

"You're right," he agreed then and slipped off the table.  
"Grabbing an apple, you want one?"

"No, thank you. I am fine."

 

* * *

 

"I've made arrangements," Castiel announced as he stepped back into the library with Dean by his side, "A group of angels is on their way to help the hunters Dean set to look into the resurrection. As for the identity of the angel - or angels - I don't know any better than you do."

The seraph seated himself between Gadreel and Sam and reached to grab a slice of the pancake Sam had brought from the kitchen barely minutes ago. He had a serious frown upon his features as he spread jam over it, and while Sam understood the reason, the sight still made him chuckle under his breath. Dean spread himself over his seat across the table and loaded three slices onto his own plate without so much as casting a glance at the rest of the people present.

"Then," Castiel continued, separating the slice on his plate into almost identical little squares without eating a single one, "there is the matter of Thaddeus. I have a place I can take him to, provided he's strong enough to move."

"He's strong enough," Dean huffed, and the angel nodded.

"I can take him there tomorrow. I should be back home in a few hours, unless this situation calls for my presence elsewhere."

"Brother," Gadreel put in, "may I be of assistance?"

Castiel looked at him and smiled, but he shook his head.  
"Not now, Gadreel. I will inform you should a need arise. Rest - I know you are still in need of it - and stay at the bunker. I would rather have you here with Sam and Dean than following me for now."

"I understand."

To Sam's ear, he didn't sound like he understood, but he did sound agreeable even if his tone was hesitant. Their eyes met across Castiel and Sam realised he was happy, relieved, to hear the orders; there was a part of him that had held his breath through the short pause between Gadreel's question and Castiel's response. He nodded, letting that relief show, and saw a small smile cross Gadreel's lips as well.

"I think I'm heading to bed," he announced then, sliding the rest of his pancake over to Dean.  
To his surprise, the older glared at him with a frown on his face and slid the plate back.

"Eat your pancake, kiddo."

"I'm not -"

"I said; eat your pancake, kiddo."

Sam sat back down.

"That's my boy."

The younger rolled his eyes as he cut a piece out of the remaining half. The thought of eating it made him feel sick but he pushed that thought aside and tried to make his mind as blank as it could be, chewing and swallowing without letting a single thought through. He repeated the process a few times before it got too hard and he leaned back, aching and uncomfortable but at least decisive to finish.  
A shadow moved behind him, sliding his fingertips across Sam's back; he glanced up and saw Gadreel nod at him in turn as the male moved on to pick up his pile of papers from where he'd left them. Lost in that, Sam brought one more piece into his mouth - he felt as if it took forever to chew through but finally he could down it and when he looked down at the plate, there were only some crumbs left on it.

"Happy?" he asked, grimacing, as he tilted the plate towards Dean.

The older examined it for a moment before nodding approvingly.  
"Good job. And good night, Sam."

"Good night. Cas, too. Gadreel."

The corridor back towards his bedroom was long and winded tonight. His steps echoed through and he felt dizzy and sick, but he knew the way well enough to walk it blind and eventually did arrive at the door. He slid is fingers over the lock of it, one hand stuck on its way down his pockets, and it took him a while to dig it out and open the door with it; during that time he felt like he was stuck in slow motion, but the delay gave him the chance to form a plan instead. He picked up his blanket and his pillow and made his way back out and into Gadreel's room instead. He left the door ajar to signal the male he'd occupied the bedroom, and he made his bed on the wall's side again as he'd done the first night he'd spent there. He felt better there - returning to his bedroom reminded him too much of all the nights he'd rolled around feeling like he did now, like his skin was too tight around him and his breathing didn't flow as it should have, and he knew that trying to sleep in there would have resulted in nothing but growing anxiety that would have eventually drowned him. Here he could settle to wait for Gadreel, and as he waited, he slowly - unintentionally - drifted to light sleep; it only broke when the door closed softly against its frames and the light from the corridor was drowned, leaving him in full darkness.

"Hey, Gadreel."

"Sam."  
The angel's voice was soft and warm and, if Sam could read it right, happily surprised.  
"How are you feeling?"

"Tired, mostly. Come in."

The sound of the older's footsteps went off pace in the middle of the room and returned as that of bare feet; Sam heard him leave his clothes on the chair before he toured back to the bed and settled upon it. He didn't hesitate now to bring his arm around Sam's body and the younger snuggled up to him without delay, feeling Gadreel's mouth press a kiss over the top of his head as he nuzzled against him for comfort.  
"You are restless," the sentry observed without judgement.

"I feel sick."

Sam felt the older nod against him.

"Can I distract you from it?" he asked, prompting a chuckle from Sam.

"Can you?" the younger asked him in turn.

Gadreel thought for a moment in silence before nodding again.  
"I have thought," he said then, "You let me in once. I wondered if you would wish to experience the closest I can give in return; if you would like to feel me for what I am."

"That sounds vaguely sexual."

The older let out a small, amused huff that told Sam he was being inappropriate, but it didn't matter; Sam loved the gentle undertone of happiness in that sound too much to be ashamed.

"It could be that," Gadreel said then to Sam's surprise, "there are many ways to establish such a connection. I suppose making it sexual is not out of question, that it might even be an easy way, if that is how you want to get to know me."

The younger was about to tell him it wasn't what he'd meant, but he reconsidered. Was there ever a time when he was more open and feeling than when he made love? But this was a holy creature - an angel - and he wasn't sure if the act was sacred enough for what Gadreel was offering him.  
"How?" Sam asked the only question he could.

"When I took control of your body, I moved my grace inside you but avoided contact to your soul. In essence, you gave me everything, yet I gave you nothing in turn aside from the strength I provided your body. You have not seen me or felt me as I am, as an angel, but only as a form I chose to present myself to you. Therefore, I have you at disadvantage. I've not allowed you to see me, but I forced you to reveal yourself to me as you are."

Sam nodded slowly. The thought was digging at that disgusting feeling within him that was already threatening to take control of him, but while he wanted to think of anything else, the older's offer sounded tempting - like an adventure that he for once wanted to partake in.  
"I can't see true forms. I'm sorry, it's just... the way I'm built, I guess."

Gadreel's palm slid over his features and Sam closed his eyes to that touch.  
"There are ways to show you without harming you."

"I've never heard of any."

"Has any angel ever offered to reveal their true form to you?" Gadreel asked him in turn, sounding slightly arrogant; Sam scoffed at the tone.

"No."

"It takes a lot of trust," the sentry continued and his tone had changed again, "I would not offer it lightly, nor would any other angel. But I trust you as much as an angel can and I know you do not wish me harm, and I know that in a way, I owe you that."

"So it's kind of an I showed you mine, now you show me yours kind of a deal?"

"I... suppose that is true."

"You have no idea what that means, do you."

Sam heard the older's smile in his huff and he loved the sense of control he'd regained over the older, as if the arrogance in him had been a challenge.

"I do not," Gadreel admitted.

"Nevermind," the younger chuckled.  
He sat up, body tingling from anxiety and heart racing even though he tried to keep his mind on the subject they were speaking of. He assumed the offer had a lot to do with Gadreel knowing exactly how close he was to another breakdown, but he didn't make a mention of it; he was ashamed of feeling that way, of being out of control to begin with.  
"So... how would it work? Showing me."

"I would allow your soul to make contact with my grace. Then you would see me as I am, but your body would remain unharmed."

Sam shuddered.  
"I..."  
He closed his eyes to stop the world from swaying.  
_Not now._  
"Does it require my... Do I - have to consent?"

"No. Not yours. Mine."

In the dim light that gave Sam the approximate knowledge of what he was looking at, he turned his gaze back towards Gadreel.  
"So I'd be the one possessing? That sounds - crazy."

"Merely touching, not taking over. A human's soul is capable of naturally reaching for the essence of another, but an angel cannot be reached unless a permission is given; this time, I would let you find me."

"So it's more like holding hands?"

"Precisely."

Sam nodded slowly.  
"That sounds... kind of exciting, actually."  
His smile wavered but the thought was already returning some warmth into his limbs. He still hesitated, however.  
"I won't promise anything. I'm not sure if I can let anyone close tonight."

"That is perfectly fine. I can wait."

"I want to try, though."

It was Gadreel's turn to nod.  
"I will guide you as far as you are willing to go."

 

* * *

 

 

It took the most courage for Sam to climb up over the older's hips, but when he was there, he could sigh of relief. The male's warmth closed him in and allowed his tense body something akin to a safe haven in which he could rest it, and when Gadreel brought his arms around him and held him close, Sam gave in to it without hesitation. He rested against the other and breathed in his now familiar scent and even as he was absently playing around with the blanket around them, pulling it up to cover their naked forms as if for modesty, he didn't feel ashamed for being that way and the restlessness, the anxiety in him forgave him for allowing it just the same.  
He wasn't sure what he aimed for. The result was a mix of intimacy and eroticism; it couldn't be ignored in the way their bodies rested against one another, in the small, trying little movements of Sam's hips over the angel's seeking comfort and relaxation in the ways that he knew to look for them, but for the main part it was exactly what it looked like - two bodies together, arms holding the other close, one head bent to touch the other's shoulder and the other still alert as if guarding the one seeking safety from proximity.

There it was again, the miracle of feeling small. It raised a blush over Sam's cheeks and flashed a will to fight it within him - he wasn't _small_ , and he was strong and he was, more than anything, independent. But it felt so good to just pretend otherwise, leave it all upon Gadreel as he'd promised to carry it, and let go. The burden over the younger's shoulders seemed to slip away and he could breathe freely, and the deep, long inhales of oxygen drove the fear nesting within him deeper in, suffocating it as it was releasing the man himself.

"How do you feel?"

"Better," Sam replied, mouth forming the words against the older's skin, "Give me a little more time."

"Take as long as you need."

A smile played over Sam's lips as he closed his eyes again. Some part of his mind was still screaming at him, warning him about trusting Gadreel, warning him about trusting anyone who'd ever so much as laid a finger on him, but he felt too happy to give much heed to that obnoxious, loud voice within him. Slowly it faded to background noise and he straightened up again, nodding.

"What do you need me to do?" he asked almost shyly, for once feeling like the beginner between them - he had no idea what was expected of him.

"If you want to, you could hold my hands."

Joining them wasn't hard, but it left Sam's back feeling cold and he wondered if Gadreel felt the same or if he didn't care about details like that - if he even noticed them. Their fingers sought their places for a moment before settling; Sam felt the pressure of the angel's bones against the flesh of his fingers and wondered if he'd paid attention to that before. They fit together well but it was a close call; if his fingers had been any thicker, the pressure could have been uncomfortable. Now it merely resembled a confident hold that kept him there - no bruising sensation, nothing to take him out of the web he felt he was brought inside, unable to move but just as unwilling to.

"I'm nervous."

"I sense it. You do not have to be; you will not be hurt or harmed. But should you wish to stop -"

"No, it's good. I think I just can't tell the difference between positive and negative nervousness anymore. It's all just... a haze."

They kissed; Sam wasn't sure who'd started it, but he'd been leaning in for long enough for it to be likely that the culprit was him.  
"I'm also nervous about the door," he admitted after a moment, a quiet laughter accompanying the words, "It's not locked. I know no one's going to... but... _damn_."

Gadreel huffed; the sound was warm, although perhaps slightly impatient.  
"You can lock it if you want to."

"It's... it's okay, I guess."

While their fingers fit together well, the same couldn't so much be said for their hips; the older's hip bone kept digging into Sam's inner thighs, but to readjust, he would have needed to lean more of his weight down and the thought kept him on edge. Swallowing thickly he tried, leaning back only ever so slightly, but the sensation left him tense again and he reconsidered. He was so consumed by that feeling that he forgot to track the older's movements, and it made him jump to feel the male's nose brush against his. A shaky breath escaped him before he remembered to lean into that touch and their foreheads pressed together, inviting his body to forget the strain within his muscles; it did so ever so slowly, but if there was a positive to this, it was that at least his meal had finally settled in and the nausea - and the memory of forcing himself to eat - was gone all the same.

"I'm sorry," Sam heard himself mumble.

"For what?"

"I'm twitchy. I'm... not in control."

"Do not apologise for something that does not harm me, Sam. You don't have to be ashamed of it. There is nothing shameful in it."

"I feel awful."

Gadreel nodded.  
"I am sorry for that."

"It's not really your fault. I'm just a mess. That's on me."

Before feeling the tangle of their hands reach up and wipe off the tear from his face, Sam hadn't realised any were sliding down his face. He drew in a breath and it hitched and he wished he could stop being such a complete wreck, but it didn't work like that; if he'd been in control of it, it would have never become an issue in the first place.

"So... what's next?" he asked, mostly to distract himself from the way his throat was closing in on him and trying to let out a pathetic, choked sob.

"If you are ready," Gadreel replied quietly, calmly, "I will lower my defenses and as for the rest - you should be able to reach in. It may take some time to learn, but I do not doubt that you can do it."

"Okay. I'm not sure how this'll work but I'll try."

Something shifted within the older: Sam felt it between them, but he couldn't really place what it was. Perhaps it was a different sort of relaxation in his body, but mostly it felt like the air between them was suddenly easier to breathe, and as if there was more light in the room. In the silence he could hear a new, faded chiming, something that he knew within his heart but couldn't place as a memory in time; he shivered, closed his eyes and concentrated on that sound and the changed atmosphere in the room. Without him noticing, his body shifted down again, leaning much more of his weight over the older's lap than he'd given him before, and the muted pain in his thighs ceased.

Gadreel breathed in deep and slow - Sam realised he was mirroring that rhythm without noticing, and that it was likely the source of the relaxation he felt spreading within him. He wondered if it was conscious, if it was required of the angel for him to keep his defenses down as he'd explained it; Sam knew that if he'd tried to leave himself open, he would have needed to concentrate on something physical, too. His hands held the older's tighter and suddenly he could feel him closer, not physically but otherwise, as if the skin between them had lost much of its meaning. He let out a shaky gasp and opened his eyes, and he jumped when he saw the glow that he opened them to; the jump cut off the connection he'd accidentally forged between them and the light faded immediately before he even so much as had the chance to understand what he'd been seeing. An unintentional laughter escaped him and he leaned back, breathing in for a while before letting it all out.

"I should have expected that," he muttered breathlessly.

Gadreel was smiling as he shook his head.  
"I do not know how you could have," he said in turn, "It is easy to explain to you what you are to see but it is a different thing altogether to truly see it. You can try again if you want to."

Sam nodded. His hold of the older's hands tightened again but this time he didn't close his eyes: he was certain that if he'd open them and see the light again, he'd drop his concentration like he'd done before, and there was nothing he could do about it.

This time, the light grew within the angel's body slowly. At first it was so dim that Sam thought it was his vision adjusting to the low lighting in the room, but when it kept growing he realised it couldn't possibly be; it lit up the outline of the other's so slowly that it looked like it was a shape painted by stars upon a calm water in sunset, but there were waves that crossed within it like gold that diluted to silver and then a faint, bright blue before touching the seams of the figure before him. Swallowing, Sam turned his gaze towards where he expected to see the male's wings, and his breathing halted entirely when he realised he could see them; not as clear, feathery things that he felt he could have touched but as living light in the shape of bones and pin feathers and some dimmer beams of light that had to be the older feathers that the fall had left intact. His next inhale was a near-comical gasp; instinctively he sought out the angel's eyes but at the same time as he realised that Gadreel, in the physical realm, was holding his eyes closed, he saw the bright blue glow behind the physical realm, and looking at it felt like he was being watched like he was seeing Gadreel - much beyond the flesh and bone.  
The older's halo was dim but clearly visible, nothing like the halos in paintings and drawings but living light that radiated from him like light from the moon, not as a glow on its own but as a space that mirrored the light that radiated from the angel himself. As Sam watched, holding tight to hands that now appeared to have long talons at the end of each finger but without seams to indicate claws, he realised that the wings on the older's back were slowly moving as he breathed, sometimes bending or stretching out in slow, restful movements. He could see where the healing had already changed their forms from the bony structures to something that glowed in a more uniform manner, and he leaned in although the very thought of doing so struck fear within the wonder he was trapped with to see how they joined to the male's back; it was like watching a tree's root join with the trunk, and by the place where the bone sunk into the grace that Sam was watching it shone a bit brighter, full of small feathers that struck out, forming a bunch that almost appeared like it could have been soft to touch.

A crazy thought entered the younger's mind and he closed his eyes, leaning in: the proximity between them now felt entirely different, too, and it was much easier to know where everything on the older's body was exactly. He pressed his lips over Gadreel's and was surprised to feel the same soft texture he'd grown used to in the days past, and even more so when the creature holding him responded with the same shy eagerness that he associated with the male. Sam was afraid to open his eyes again, either to see that he'd broken the connection again and lost the vision before him or to see it intact and in full force: when he finally did, the latter was what greeted him. He drew in another wavering gasp and backed out as if in shock; his heart pumped loudly in his chest and the only thought in his mind was that he couldn't, _wouldn't_ , believe this - that this was what he'd fallen in love with. Not a man, as if he hadn't known that before, but a bright light, a being so completely out of this world that the longer he looked at it the less it fit in the constraints the flesh around it provided it. Inside, it was much larger, and the sheer size and strength of it made the younger quiver like a dry leaf struggling against the wind late in the fall season. He bowed his head - his whole back - before it and finally let go of the older's hands.

The light faded, but it didn't leave him blind to the room as if his eyes had never perceived any light to begin with.

Before he knew it, Sam had climbed up from the male's lap; he paced through the room to the door and locked it as the only thing he could imagine doing and then, realising he'd just locked himself in with the creature he'd barely glanced upon, he hit his back against the closed door and slid on the floor in front of him, feeling more and more like an insignificant leaf, and the feeling filled him with some kind of an emotion that he'd never experienced before and had no mastery over.  
He hid his head in his arms and let his body tremble.

Gadreel's footsteps sounded so small and so mundane as he crossed the room carefully towards Sam. He knelt before the younger and then hesitated; his breath hitched and Sam lifted his gaze to see him, but his own shape was blocking out most of the stray light that had previously been cast from underneath the door and very little was visible anymore.  
"May I touch you?" the older asked in a lost voice.

Sam nodded, letting out a small sound of agreement. The angel's palm was warm and soft as it pressed over his shoulder; when he didn't flinch to it, that touch turned into an embrace as the older pulled him closer. Sam held onto him and breathed out the all-consuming feeling within him in short inhales and long exhales. It felt good to replace the embrace of his own arms into that of the other's and second by second he grew more certain of what he was feeling, and he couldn't help the smile that broke over his dry-feeling lips. He buried his head between the male's shoulder and his neck and laughed.  
"That was..."  
His voice was lost and it broke into the lack of words that he'd already found within his mind. There was nothing he could say to explain it, nothing he could say to even explain how he'd felt about it, so he only held tighter, feeling like he'd for the first time in his life actually seen an angel. Before then, he'd seen many in disguises, but none in the way that Gadreel had shown him and there was something about that experience that had changed him.

"Do you think," he breathed out in a moment's time, "that Cas has shown that to Dean?"

"Likely," Gadreel replied, "They are very close."

"I don't know why I'm thinking about them."

"Do you wish for an answer?"

"To that question?"

"Yes."

"Shoot," Sam chuckled, still breathless.

"You seek for a context for what you just experienced. Something that could explain it; the knowledge of not being alone with what you saw."

"In short, I'm trying to tell myself I didn't just lose it completely."

"In short, yes."

Now it was definitely Sam who started the kiss; he pushed into it with force as if trying to cling onto what he felt when he no longer was sure if he could trust his eyes to show him what was really happening around him, or what he was touching, holding, kissing.  
The nightmares, although he'd expected them the whole evening, were nowhere to be found again that night.


	25. A Lifetime To Learn

* * *

 

Gadreel felt restful the whole night he stayed by Sam's side. He needed no entertainment to feel content as he was: watching the dreamstate twirl and twist the younger's aura was well and enough for him, knowing that the hunter was at peace and slept calm and safe with him by his side. He kept his tattered wing over Sam's body through the slow-passing hours, still relieved and surprised that the other hadn't made a mention of their state even though he'd seen them for what they were and Gadreel had watched him follow their movement before him. There was a different feel between them now, too, that he was sure he wasn't imagining. He felt more accepted and certain of himself now - Sam had seen him now, scars and all, and he'd still chosen to stay. The affection the younger granted him hadn't changed, either; the kiss he'd given the older when Gadreel had picked him up from the floor had been as eager as the ones given before, perhaps even more so, and that above all had reassured Gadreel that Sam's opinion of him hadn't changed even when he'd been faced with the truth about him, his humanity perhaps more than anything. He wasn't human, but until now, he could have never been certain if Sam knew it like he thought he knew it, yet it seemed that at the end of the day it made no difference to the man. Even though before then Gadreel hadn't had the time to properly worry about something like that, it had struck him as cold fear the moment he'd realised what his offer could potentially change between them. He'd only given Sam the opportunity to drive the anxiety from him, give him something else to think of, and to feel as if he'd at least made a real attempt at bringing them to an equal standing, but there were so many things that he could have by accident changed - not least of all, the younger's ability to love him. It wasn't a given. It had surprised him when Sam had confessed to it in the first place, but it filled him with happiness now that he was certain it was for him and not for the body he inhabited, or for some misconception of what and who he was. He wasn't human, and a human would first and foremost always love another; one's ability to love something that was so far from one as an angel was was neither a certainty nor even likely in the first place.

Dawn broke with rain; December was turning towards its close with no more snow in sight. Sam stirred before the alarm went off in the pocket of his jeans that he'd discarded by the pile where Gadreel's clothes sat, but he spent few minutes as still as if he was still asleep and Gadreel didn't greet him before he was ready to begin the day. They dressed up in silence, but Sam seemed to be in a good mood; his eyes met Gadreel's multiple times during the minute they took and he smiled each and every time.  
The library was empty and there was no coffee in the kitchen yet, and as Sam moved in to change the state of things, Gadreel headed for the study to see if the book had been left there, intending to continue copying the pages while the coffee was brewing. Instead, he found Castiel.

"Good morning," the seraph greeted him, smiling tiredly.

"As to you," Gadreel replied, feeling surprised at finding him there when no sign of life had been visible in the rest of the bunker.  
"Is Dean..."

"Still sleeping," Castiel informed him, placing his hand on the couch next to him, "Can I talk to you?"

Gadreel nodded. He crossed the couch and settled on it where Castiel had marked a place for him; he watched the younger for a moment before either spoke.  
"Sam is awake, isn't he?" Castiel asked first.

Gadreel nodded again.  
"In the kitchen, making breakfast," he replied.

Castiel nodded.  
"How is he?"

Gadreel thought for a moment. Then he lowered his gaze to his lap and from there down to his grey socks and wondered if that was at all a question he was entitled to answer.  
"I find him in good mood today," he stated instead, "as for the rest, I think he is the one you should ask rather than myself."

"And you?" Castiel continued, his voice warm and his smile nearing apology perhaps in response to Gadreel's reluctance at speaking of Sam when he wasn't there to hear them.

"I have not felt this good in a long while, brother, perhaps not ever."

"That is good to hear."

There was a change in the air between them - a shift from lighter conversation to what Castiel was about to address next.  
"I would release Thaddeus," he finally said, causing Gadreel to tense up immediately, "He... is a _guest_. Only for the few hours it takes before he leaves for good, Gadreel. I do not wish to give the wrong impression."

"I do not trust him, and you should not either, brother."

"I understand."  
Castiel shifted, sighing.  
"I wouldn't want to do it, either, but this is a matter of... I cannot allow it to look as if we keep him a prisoner. Things... are changing. I have to show trust in my own for them to trust me in return. If Raphael is gathering forces, every opinion counts."

"So this is about politics."

"More or less, brother," Castiel replied heavily.  
"You do not have to stay here."

"Where would I go?" Gadreel asked him, even though nothing held him back - he could have gone out for those few hours, anywhere, but the thought was strange to him still.

Castiel watched him for a moment before he sighed and shook his head.  
"I feel terrible," he said with a crooked smile on him, "I know I'm putting my image before your safety and comfort and I know I have no right to tell you to leave - and I am telling you to leave if I offer you no other choice. But I would ask it of you, as I feel that this is... this is important. I hope you understand."

Slowly, the sentry nodded.  
"I understand," he said, and for once, he did.  
It still didn't mean the fact pleased him in the least.  
"I suppose it is high time that I explore my surroundings," he continued then, his voice as heavy as Castiel's had been earlier, "Taking a walk will hardly kill me. Perhaps it will do me a favour."

"I agree," the younger replied, clearly relieved, "You are no longer a prisoner and you should not make yourself one within this place, either. Moreover, you're free to do as you please, and while I know... it's a strange thing to an angel, I think... experiencing that freedom is crucial to you."

"How so?"

"You don't serve anyone, Gadreel. You only ever answered to God before, and you should only answer to God now. I am not your leader; I don't want to be one, as I'm sure you still remember. I trust your instinct and I do not wish for it to bend before anyone's command."

Gadreel hesitated. He cast a lost look into his brother's eyes and stayed silent, wordless, for a long while.  
"It seems a difficult thing to do," he finally managed to say, "to look up to no one; it is not in my nature."

"I know. Gadreel, I know," Castiel said, a pained tone in his voice - and he did.  
He, if any angel, knew what it meant to be responsible for his own actions and choices and answer to no one but God for them. Gadreel turned away and breathed for a while, anchoring himself back to the couch and the room and the bunker itself. Then, finally, he nodded.

"I will do my best," he said, casting an insecure gaze back at Castiel and soon realising that it was the very first mistake he'd done.  
With a weary sigh he readjusted his mindset and the next time he looked at Castiel he faked confidence: the older smiled, shook his head and turned away.

"It is a strange time for us, brother," he said before standing up, "I should wake Dean up before we move forwards with Thaddeus."

Gadreel sighed.  
"I will be with Sam," he said then, "but I will leave if I feel that I must."

Castiel watched him for a moment before nodding.  
"You are brave to face him at all, Gadreel," he said then.

"He is a coward. I should not fear one such as him. Not anymore."

The younger smiled.  
"He cannot harm you."

"I know that," Gadreel agreed, standing up after Castiel, "and that is why I will stay if only I can; to prove myself that this is not a lie. He no longer holds any power over me, but as long as he is contained, I will not know it for real."

Castiel nodded again.  
"Wisely thought," he said and turned to leave.  
"I assume our powers, too, will be contained if the brothers decide that it is for the best to ward the bunker against him. We can only hope it is not a permanent change."

"I doubt it will be, brother."

"Mm. It might last some time, Gadreel. But at least we will have our own rooms to return to."

 

* * *

 

Thaddeus showed no interest in contacting any of them. It surprised Gadreel; he'd assumed the same old cocky, confident angel would have emerged from the room, but instead he saw nothing but a barely recognisable shell of the guardian he hated. It was almost impossible to make the connection at all - there was no Thaddeus in the male who lurked within a careful distance from everyone else, finding his way through the rooms like a shy dog trapped in a threatening, unknown territory.  
However, every and each time that Gadreel lost sight of the younger guardian, he felt uneasy and on edge, and when no one seemed to expect anything of him, he slowly noticed himself following the other around the bunker. It felt safer that way, even with the suspicious glances Thaddeus cast into his direction, ready to shoot a blunt-edged insult in his direction if he'd come close enough, but Gadreel never did. He followed him from room to room but always stayed at the opposite end of one if he only could, and when he couldn't, he made clear to associate himself with anyone else present in the room to make clear that he had no intention of contacting Thaddeus at all.

Finally, after an hour or so of nothing but changing rooms and crossing corridors like a shadow behind the younger, they found themselves in a dead end with no one else present in the room; the study felt smaller than Gadreel remembered it being and he thought about turning and leaving, as staying in the library would have left Thaddeus with no choice but to move back to him should he choose to change his position.  
This intent was cut short when he turned, and the younger finally opened his mouth.

"Are you in love with me, Gadreel?" the guardian asked in a mocking voice.

Gadreel turned, but he didn't know what to answer to such a question. However he could have addressed it, it would have bitten him back in one way or another. Instead, he merely stared as the torturer settled on the couch upon which he'd sat with Castiel only two hours earlier.

"I hear I'm finally leaving today."

"So it has been planned," Gadreel spoke dryly.

He watched the shorter aim his gaze towards a guitar in the corner; Dean had played it on occasion when Gadreel had been here years ago, but he hadn't seen anyone touch it for the whole time he'd been there now. To his surprise, Thaddeus pulled himself up from the couch again just to grab the instrument and return with it; he tried it out as if Gadreel had vanished from the room completely. It let out an off-tune noise and Gadreel shifted again to leave.

"Stay."

The command was clear and froze the older on spot. He had to fight his reaction to remember that he wasn't obliged to listen to the torturer anymore. Nothing would happen even if he chose to move. Still, somehow, his feet refused to listen to him and he hated himself for it.  
The younger didn't seem phased; he appeared perfectly confident about Gadreel staying, and didn't even bother to glance at him. That finally made the older turn and take a few steps away before he instinctively turned around again, returning.

"I told you to stay. Where are you going? You followed me all the way here and now you can't seem to do what you wanted to do. We are alone, Gadreel, your chance is slipping from your fingertips."

"I have told you over and over again, I have no intention to kill you."

"No?"

Gadreel didn't know why he'd come back anymore. He wanted to turn again but pointlessly shifting back and forth didn't exactly make him look confident, so he stayed again.  
"No," he repeated.

"Good."  
Thaddeus never once looked at him: his eyes were upon the guitar that he'd turned to tuning like it was a part of him, like he'd done it a million times before.  
"You know, Gadreel, I hope this is the last time we ever have to see each other again. Makes me... sentimental, almost."

A part of Gadreel was reconsidering the choice he'd just voiced. He could feel his blade's shape so close to manifestation that he had to tell himself to retire it; the form shattered into nothing and became one with him again, leaving him with a heavy, discontent sigh.

"We did spend years together, you and I."

"Do you wish to reminiscence, Thaddeus?"

"Oddly enough," the guardian huffed, "I think I do."  
The next chord he played was immaculate.  
"And then I think I will sit here, accompanied by this fine creation, until I am taken wherever it is that I will go next - far from you, I'm sure you hope. I share that desire with you."

Hesitantly, Gadreel crossed the room; he moved along the walls to retain as much distance as he could. Now Thaddeus was looking at him, eyes occasionally moving down to his fisted hands as if to make certain he was still unarmed.

"I have a confession to make," he finally spoke again, returning to the guitar.

"A confession."

"Yes. In a manner of speaking, anyway."

Gadreel watched him for a moment, expecting him to continue, but instead of paying any attention to Gadreel for the time being Thaddeus concentrated upon playing a verse to some song that the older had never heard, and which perhaps up until then had never existed in the first place. The sentry cast a look towards the corridor and, to his surprise, saw Dean standing there; their eyes met and the hunter nodded, flashing an angel blade in his offhand. His right was holding a cup of coffee that he sipped quietly, and Gadreel wasn't certain if Thaddeus even knew he was present, but for some reason knowing he wasn't alone made Gadreel feel much more confident. At least he wasn't the only one who was following the torturer around in the bunker - if nothing else, it seemed to justify his paranoia.

"Then confess," he heard himself say in a low, secure and commanding tone.

Thaddeus lifted his gaze towards him and let his hand run down a chord that ended the music he'd played clearly mid-verse.  
"Aren't you in a hurry, brother."

"You've wasted my patience, Thaddeus."

"Mm."  
The younger angel leaned back in the couch, arm resting over the guitar's side and the other hand still holding a chord over the strings.  
"I told you I didn't always hate you. And truth be told, I wanted to tell you, but it would have - put me at a disadvantage. See, you had to respect me. That was my sole duty; to keep you in line, to give you your punishment, and I will not lie, I _loved_ my job."

Gadreel felt the blade in his hand again - the warm, grace-bound metal of it pressed against his palm and he felt relief at the feel of it even as he once more forced it to melt back into inexistence. This time, he kept it close by, however.  
Thaddeus watched his hand with some curiosity, and there was a new calm in him. Gadreel held back from glancing at Dean by the corridor, but he could still see his shape there; he hadn't left, and perhaps he was listening, too.

"I started hating it, eventually. The way you never confessed, those stubborn, delusional beliefs you held that you never abandoned of simply following your orders and of how it was I who was acting out of line. It drove me crazy, Gadreel, that I couldn't make you see how wrong you were. I could carve you until you were nothing but torn and bleeding grace but you never, not once, admitted guilt to anything. That was painful to me, because it was... so deeply personal. You don't understand. You never understood that. You were right in what you said to me before you stabbed me before. You were a prisoner and I tortured you. I tortured your boyfriend, too, and I liked it. He broke more easily than you did. I think he confessed twenty times to things he hadn't done just so that he could get out of there. I took some pity on him sometimes. But on you, I didn't need to, because you were a _hero_. You never broke. Not once. And that is why it was personal to me, Gadreel."

"Get to the point, if you have one."

Thaddeus laughed.  
"So that you can stab me? Are you going to go back on your word now?"

Gadreel shifted, biting his tongue. Then, finally, he shook his head.  
"Before I leave, and you'll never have the chance to finish."

"Scary."  
Thaddeus turned away again and slid his palm over the guitar's neck.  
"That _is_ scary."

The three of them remained silent over the minute that followed. Then, finally, a weary smile broke over the torturer's lips. At that point, Gadreel had completely forgotten why he'd stayed before, if there ever had been a reason; everything he wanted to do now was just to go, but a part of him, a part that he hated, was curious to hear the rest.

"I stood there, too. When God picked you, I stood witness to it. Everyone loved you. You were _so_ special, Gadreel, I don't think you ever realised just how much it meant to everyone else. It never meant anything to you to become the single most important angel in all of Heaven. You were so narcissistic you probably thought you deserved it. And we thought so, too. Every guardian in Heaven thought they were below you. I thought _I_ was below you. I was just a prison guard, I was nothing compared to the Sentry of Eden. I envied you and I - I looked up to you. And then you... _you_ ," Thaddeus spoke to the floor and his voice leaked with bitterness and a tone that Gadreel couldn't read as anything but pain, "threw that away like it was worthless to you, and by the Lord I swear you spat on it as you stood there and watched it all fall apart. You were given _everything_ and you threw it away like it was trash and you have no idea what that meant. You were brought down to the pit where I'd lived my entire existence and you behaved like the spoiled child you were, saying you didn't belong there, that you were _innocent_ \- innocent of what, Gadreel? Of the crime you committed? I didn't care. No one cared, Gadreel, because we saw you for what you were. And you weren't a hero. You were _nothing_. Not worth the title given to you: just another angel who'd never seen the dark side of Heaven and who thought he was entitled to bringing it all down around him simply because he so desired. You ruined _everything_. You had no right to. God loved you more than He loved any of us and you... didn't even care. No gratefulness, no respect, nothing. And I bet you never thought twice about it, never looked at me and wondered what it had been like for me. You pretend like it was bad to be down there for the while you were imprisoned but that was my whole world, Gadreel. I _never_ left. And when I finally get out and I'm free, you come back like I owe you something and you _kill_ me."  
The younger sneered, his whole aura bending to the dark of anger, of hatred and hurt.  
"End of confession. I hope it was worth your while, sentry," he finished with his voice dripping with those emotions.

Gadreel didn't realise they shared a direct eye contact; he couldn't remember giving Thaddeus one aside from the times he'd stood up to the torture and refused to show how much it had hurt him. The younger still had that twisted grimace over the his lips but his eyes were clearer than before and his aura was burning so vividly that he wasn't even trying to contain or hide it, and Gadreel realised he'd truly never taken the time to watch him in this way before. How could he have? He'd been at the wrong end of the blade, cut, broken, beaten, _bleeding_.

"I've never loved a brother like I loved you. I've never looked up to anyone like I looked up to you. And you let me down like no one else ever has, and that - Gadreel - that hurt worse than God abandoning us all. It was personal."

"I did not know."  
Gadreel stood up straight and breathed in; his chest ached as he turned, but his mind was strangely clear and void of thought.  
"And yet it changes nothing."

"It changes everything," Thaddeus said with the usual lightness, the mocking tone back in his voice, "it'll keep you up at night."

When Gadreel walked past Dean, their shoulders brushed together; from the study, he could hear the guitar all the way back to the library.

 

* * *

 

"What happened to you - it's not your fault."  
Sam's fingers ran through Gadreel's short hair, scattering dirt over his scalp and sending some grains of dry earth rolling down the angel's ears.  
"Damn. Sorry. Dirty hands."

The older smiled quietly and shook his head, brushing his own hand across his ear to rid it of the dirt despite his skin being just as filthy as Sam's was. Then he reached for another pot and cast the contents, dead plant and dry soil and all, into the trash bag that Sam was holding open for him.

"I know it feels like it is," Sam continued, stumbling on starting over, "but it's time to let that go. You made a decision back then and regretting it now doesn't change anything, just like - it doesn't change a thing if the angels hold onto their grudges over it and blame you forever for what happened. It's their loss. It's not on you, Gadreel, you did it and it's over and if you still think it was the right thing to do - after all of this - then it has to be. It doesn't matter what others think. Only you have the whole story."

"It does not easen the pain."

"I know."  
Sam laughed, but his laughter was strained and tired: it was the laugh of a man who wasn't lying.  
"Trust me, I do. But don't let that ass get one over you now."

"I am not concerned about him," Gadreel replied dryly, wearily, "Thaddeus is beyond any redemption, and surely I will not be the one to grant him that. I merely... wonder how many felt that way. Am I prideful? Certainly. Yet I never thought of it before, not in this way."

"Well... who else would have held your head up. Really, I don't blame you for holding your ground, even if it came across as arrogance. You've had no one."

"I killed the one I had, Sam. Only because I found my own salvation to be more important than the life of my only friend. I am not... I do not deserve what you give me."

"Put it behind you."

"I doubt I can - even if Abner was to be raised, Sam, I do not believe he would forgive my deeds. I betrayed him, the only brother I... the only one who took me back when I had nothing to give in return. A crime such as that will never be forgiven, and it should not be."

Sam straightened up: the mouth of the bag he'd held fell closed as his fingers slid from holding it. He turned a dull look into Gadreel's eyes and the corner of his mouth twitched.  
"And then what?" he asked.

"Then... then what?" Gadreel repeated.

Sam nodded.  
"Yeah. Then what? You messed up, and now you'll never be forgiven. That's your fact. So what next?"

"I... do not understand."

"Where do you want to go next? What do you want to do? Are you going to hold onto your past forever and cling onto it until it eats you whole, or will you accept it and move on? Do you have any idea how many people I've killed, directly and indirectly? How many innocent people who put their faiths in me, or who didn't even know who I was, are dead because of me and my bad choices?"  
The younger shuddered.  
"I've told you this over and over again and I swear that this is the last time, Gadreel. It's either you let it go or you're dead, end of it. There's no other choice. If you hang onto your belief that you're worthless and what you did defines you today, you'll never move on, you'll never become anything else. You messed up. You did that, I'm not saying you didn't. And it sucks. You killed one of my best friends while I was there, I watched my own hands take his life. I'll be the last one to tell you it didn't matter, or that it won't follow you to your grave - _again_ \- but what I can tell you is that you're not the only one who made those choices believing they were for a greater good and had it all fall down around them. You're surrounded by people who have pasts just as dark as you. We're all murderers here. That's why I have nightmares, Gadreel, that's why Cas doesn't look an angel in the eye unless he has to, and that's why Dean drinks. There's no difference between us and I get that you feel like you're the worst of us - you've literally been told that, taught that, for thousands of years without a single being standing there to tell you otherwise. But the truth is, if there ever was a place where you could start over with people who get you and with whom you don't need to be ashamed of what you were, with whom you can learn to live with it, it's here. The choice is on you."

Gadreel was still on his knees on the floor; the old plastic tarp underneath him rattled each time he moved. His breath was stuck inside him somewhere and he couldn't make it budge.  
"You are right," he finally said, "I have not learned."  
He hung his head and his grace ached, the pain lingering in each old wound. Perhaps he would never learn. Sam had said these same things to him over and over and over and yet he'd made no progress.

Before he knew it, the younger's arms were around him and Sam was there on his knees, too; he pulled the angel against his body and his dirty hands both went into the male's hair again, scattering earth down the neck of Gadreel's shirt. The older brushed his head against Sam's chest and drew a shaky breath full of his scent.

"It's been a _week_ , Gadreel," Sam spoke, and his voice was a lot less harsh than it had been a moment ago, "it takes longer than that to remember, and a lot longer than that to learn. There'll be other things that bring it up and that get you back to square one. I should know."

The older nodded although he didn't know if he agreed, and they stayed there, holding onto each other for a long while in the mold-scented air that was heavy with the dust rising from the dry pots they'd turned over.

"You know, I think having this place will do you good," the hunter continued after a while, "You seem like the type who could benefit from therapeutic gardening."  
He huffed and pressed a kiss over the older's forehead, and there was something utterly spontaneous yet calculated in that one gesture that it halted Gadreel's breath all over again.  
"Let's finish up in here before the market closes."


	26. Epilogue

* * *

 

Sam's fingers brushed off the dust from the shattered tablet. He picked up a shard and examined it before handing it to Dean.  
"I guess that's that."

Dean nodded. He sighed, turned around the shard and scratched the side of it with his nails before throwing it back on the floor.  
"Well, it isn't the freaking tablet, then."

"Maybe it's -"

"Maybe it's _Maybelline_ , Sam. I'm done looking at this mess. Let's go home, we'll make it back by dinner."

Slowly, the younger nodded. He sighed before standing up.  
"Cas?"

The seraph had stood by the window, looking out into the misty, clear summer morning for the whole time the brothers had wandered around the abandoned bedroom, and this was the first time he turned. A small smile played upon his lips as he did so.  
"Yes?"

Sam gestured at the tablet's shards.  
"I take it that you want to bring that back home."

Castiel nodded slowly. Sam stepped aside when he knelt by the tablet, bringing out a worn-looking cloth bag from his pocket: the hunter recognised it as one from the local market and couldn't hold back the chuckle that escaped him. The level of dignity they granted to holy objects never ceased to amaze him.  
"I'll wait outdoors," he spoke then, moving towards the staircase even as he finished the sentence.  
Dean stayed behind, and Sam entered the chill of early sunrise alone.

Gadreel stood by the Impala, watching; he noted Sam with a warm smile.  
"Did you find it?" he asked immediately.  
Sam could almost smell the nervousness on him.

"We did," the younger answered promptly, taking his place beside Gadreel and leaning back against the car, "It hasn't been touched in decades by the look of the dust on it."

The sentry drew in a shaky breath before gathering himself and nodding.  
"So it was not..."

"No. Something else is behind the resurrections."

There was an unspoken agreement between the two of them - perhaps of the hopeful, optimistic sort, but one that didn't need words to be understood. And perhaps neither of them was brave enough to voice such a thing, if only to preserve the fragile faith that kept it alive in their minds. They both knew it was unlikely they'd find out for certain now that there were no further leads to follow up on anymore.

"I guess it's safe to say they'll go on for a while longer," Sam huffed, grimacing.  
Then he cast a look at Gadreel and his expression softened.  
"And maybe... maybe you'll find the one you're looking for, too."

Gadreel nodded. He shivered as he turned his eyes back upon the old house and the chipping paint on it.  
"We find the strangest things from the strangest places," he spoke then, changing the topic.

Sam smiled.  
"I just want to go home," he said, letting out a soft laugh, "Curl up in bed with you and forget about everything."

The sentry bowed down his head as if to hide the wide but shy smile on him and the blush rushing over his cheeks. Sam watched him, realising he had never loved the older more than he did now; sun was rising behind him, providing an illusion of a halo surrounding him like the one that Sam remembered from his connection with him before. He reached a hand between them and Gadreel took it, eyes turning to meet his, and for a moment, neither of them spoke a word.

"I love you, Sam Winchester," the older finally said, the words flowing from him with ease as if he'd not just claimed them for the first time.

Sam's breath hitched - he felt a shiver cross him that had nothing to do with the weather, and a distinctive pain in his chest that he wanted to never stop.

"I love you, too."


End file.
